


Signature

by CayaStrife



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bonding, Coruscant, Empire Era, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Force Ghosts, Force Training, Galactic Empire, Gen, Hurt, Injury, Jedi, Lightsabers, Post ANH, Rebel Alliance, Redemption, Tatooine, The Force, War, bond, force, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 135,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CayaStrife/pseuds/CayaStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the Death Star above Yavin 4, both Darth Vader, Second In Command of the Galactic Empire, and Luke Skywalker, farmboy turned Rebel hero, are haunted. While the latter is torn with survivor's guilt and the unshakable feeling that greater things have been set in motion, the former embarks on a furious journey to discover the source of the signature he felt during the trench run.</p><p>As is the will of the Force, the two men are led to each other, coerced to confront a truth both would rather avoid. </p><p>From that fated meeting on, however, their paths become inseparable, and both father and son must confront realities they never deemed possible.</p><p>(Post ANH AU - What if Luke came to stay with Vader after the destruction of the First Death Star?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Impressive_ , Vader thought involuntarily.

As he was walking along the extensive corridors, he once more became aware of the enormous dimensions of the Imperial Palace. It was certainly an awe-inspiring building: with an overall height of three kilometers, the pyramidal structure towered in the very center of the governmental district of the Imperial capital. In its shape and color, it showed remarkable resemblance to the Sith Temples which had littered the universe in ages long past - now forgotten widely by the common populace.

To Darth Vader, however, the Sith code was still very much alive, hence its spirit seeped out of every gap, every corner of the Palace. He was very well aware that the Emperor had consciously chosen an edifice such as this to rule over his people; even from a distance, the Palace inspired dark notions, conjured up nightmarish ideas about the proceedings behind its sinister walls.

This notion was only intensified once one was to actually enter. With its disturbingly high ceilings and surgical cleanliness, the Palace’s sense of vastness was overwhelming. The very walls exuded a degree of power and control that had most men shivering within mere seconds. And the further one progressed toward the top of the building, the more oppressive the atmosphere became.

Vader had seen grown men shuffling nervously out of the elevators, peering around corners as if being watched. Some even failed to fulfill their actual assignments and escaped hastily into the crowded streets.

It seemed that the Emperor’s scheme worked flawlessly, Vader acknowledged. For, above all, Palpatine enjoyed the tangible fear he effected in his subordinates. He craved the shivering hands, the shifting eyes, the beads of cold sweat forming on the foreheads of the lowlifes seeking an audience.

Yet what drove a dark pleasure through his master did nothing of the sort to Vader. The Dark Lord despised weakness, loathed those worms crawling in fear of his mere presence. He inspired fear and enjoyed the feeling of power and superiority it awarded him, but held little respect for those it drew from.

There was little worth in them. What could these people know, completely blind and ignorant to the power of the Force? To most of them, it was petty trickery, an ancient religion that had all but died out - a useless remnant of the past.

Vader angered at the mere thought. All too soon the universe had forgotten about the Force, the very fabric that connected all living things. It lived in blissful ignorance at that which reigned his existence and lead him on his path. He and his master were the only ones who truly understood, the only ones who were granted access to the workings of the universe.

Or so it had seemed.

Until a few days ago, when, during the battle of Yavin, he had suddenly been confronted with a sensation he had not felt in decades. A rippling in the Force stronger than that of even his old master Obi Wan; a rippling incredibly pure and intense, originating from a young Rebel pilot. From the very first second, this boy's existence had troubled him. Not only had he thought that all Force-sensitives had been destroyed during the Purge; but there was a strange sensation surrounding this certain signature that had embedded itself in the back of the Dark Lord's mind. Something about it seemed oddly familiar, reminiscent of another life, another existence attached to a name he no longer bore. It conjured up images he had taken great pains to bury, pulled them from groundless depths. Images of an insolent boy of too much passion and youthful ignorance.

It greatly disturbed him that these fragments should resurface now. That boy's signature brought  a deep unrest and raised many questions that Vader was determined to have answered.

He would see to it personally.

At the moment, however, he had other duties to attend to. If, in fact, 'duties' was the correct term. Immediately after the news of the Death Star's destruction, Darth Vader had been contacted by the Emperor. There was no doubt he would be held responsible - having failed to retrieve the battle-station’s stolen plans and eliminate the Rebel fighters.

His master would have retribution.

Vader arrived at the door to the Emperor's private audience chamber and entered immediately. There was no need of giving a signal; Palpatine was very well aware of his arrival. In fact, he was aware of his location at all times.

The size of the chamber he entered was only a fraction of that of the public throne room, but was  equally intimidating nevertheless. Even despite the almost complete darkness, Vader sensed his master's presence and went to kneel before the ebony armchair.

A moment passed in complete silence. Vader knew that Palpatine was using the Force to read him. He bore it without complaint.

"Rise, my friend", Palpatine finally acknowledged.

Vader did as he was told and returned to a standing position, now easily towering over his master. Their positions in the chain of command, however, remained unchanged.

"I have received word, Lord Vader", the old man began quietly, "of the destruction of the Death Star at the hands of the Rebel fleet." His voice was venomous at the last words, and a moment of pregnant silence followed during which he sat up and - supporting himself with his hands - rose from his seat. The small form took a few steps toward its disciple and looked him straight in the eye, a feat made possible only by the half-dozen steps separating the two.

"If I am not mistaken, it was your responsibility to procure and return the stolen plans. It appears you have failed. You have disappointed me, Lord Vader."

He knew the Emperor did not want apologies. He did not care for them. The student had failed the teacher.

"I am aware of my failure, my Master", he replied simply.

"Very well", the Emperor's thin lips formed a sinister smile, "You will receive due punishment." 

Vader lowered his head in a gesture of acceptance and awaited Palpatine's action, knowing he would execute the sentence without further delay. Having come to know about the fate of Bevel Lemelisk, the original constructor of the Death Star, he strengthened his mind and braced himself against what might await him.

But nothing could have shielded him from what the Emperor had devised.

A searing pain instantly blinded him, and it cost the Dark Lord all his strength to remain upright.

His master invaded his mind, penetrated areas buried so deep that they should never have seen the surface again. Areas even Vader would never have touched. He rummaged around and pried up piece after piece of unbelievably painful recollection.

_A disturbingly cool, vibrant blade swirling through the air, directed at him, effortlessly cutting through his flesh, conjuring up pain in limbs he would never feel again. The mutilated body fell roughly, he was vaguely aware of a presence somewhere close, one that had discarded him like a piece of worthless junk. Yet the horror of his condition swallowed him, engulfed him completely. Flames began licking at him, eating away at whatever human shell remained, slowly, deliberately overstimulating every single sensitive nerve until his insides were crying out to him deafeningly. His suffering should not end, however, for after a momentary lapse into complete blackness, he was awoken by his own screams, hoarse but nevertheless thundering. Something was working away at his bones, his skin, his muscles, his nerves. Tissue was being extracted and replaced, bones dissolved, cold metal being shoved in their place. His own screaming droned out all the noises of sawing, drilling and hammering. There were no sedatives, no kind moments of unconsciousness. There was only an all-overwhelming pain, blanking out everything else. Almost everything else._

_"It seems in your anger, you killed her."_

Vader's body felt shattered, broken. Every fibre revolted, screamed, as if it were intent to jump through the black armor that had become its new shell. Unbeknownst to himself, the Dark Lord had fallen down to one knee, only his sheer will power preventing him from collapsing and crying out. His breathing was rapid, the respirator having trouble adjusting to the extremes.

Inside the helmet, Vader closed his eyes and allowed the Dark Side to feed upon his pain, felt it rushing through his veins with unprecedented strength. He did not let the aching go, however, held on to it, slowly feeding his hungry symbiont. A bitter aftertaste remained.

_"You killed her."_

Vader spat mentally. These images were part of another life. They were _not_ to disturb him.

He pushed them back further, suppressed them with all his might and finally managed to return to a standing position.

His master regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

"It appears that Skywalker still has not been banished", he sneered, "His teacher has been destroyed, and so shall he. A Sith cannot delve in the past, for it will lead to failure. I gave you your existence after Kenobi betrayed you. See to it that Anakin Skywalker does not weaken you again."

Vader nodded curtly.

"Yes, my Master."

And so he would. The shadow of Skywalker would be disposed of.

That name would never trouble him again.


	2. Plans

“Dear comrades-in-arms, we gather in this hour in remembrance, and in mourning of all those who were taken from us so ruthlessly. Fellow soldiers, friends, mentors, brothers, sons, fathers…”

Even though Luke wanted to listen to Leia’s kind words, he felt his concentration falter, his attention slipping from the earnest eulogy. The young man stood slumped, his arms hanging limp at his sides, his gaze hesitantly wandering around the room, as if afraid he might spy something he had never intended to see.

It felt strange to him; the Throne Room at the Temple of Yavin 4, which had only a few days ago been the site of elated celebration at the destruction of the Death Star, was now filled with somber faces. Many stared down at their own feet, while others - likely more battle-hardened soldiers regrettably familiar with the feeling of loss - kept their eyes fixed on the elevated level occupied by the Rebel leaders. Sadly, no bodies could be retrieved. In their stead, flags of the Rebel Alliance had been placed on a pedestal, neatly folded into squares, one for each of those that had fallen.

No names had been embroidered, neither carved into a memorial plate or saved into a hologram. Should such a thing fall into the hands of the Empire, it might prove fatal to the Alliance. Such was the fate of a soldier; there was often anonymity even in death.

As if to compensate, compassion usually rose to intense levels. Every companion in arms was treated as family, mourned as family. Even without physical reminders, none of them would ever be forgotten.

Luke’s gaze quickly dropped to the floor again, the young pilot focussing on his boots with a stern expression. _He_ certainly would never forget them. The battle had been very costly. Many of his comrades had lost their lives in the desperate run against the Imperial battle-station. Just days ago, he had met them all, certainly scared but all the more excited and energized by the thrill of battle. Of his own squadron, only two had made it, himself and Wedge Antilles. The other ten had been lost, along with almost all of Gold Squadron and many others. Too many others.

_Biggs…_

Luke’s mind relapsed to the last time he had seen his childhood friend, to their surprise meeting at the Rebel base. He had hardly been able to believe his eyes as the fellow former Tatooine resident had approached him with that broad grin of his, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. He had been the closest thing to a real friend Luke had ever known during his teenage years, and they had shared more adventures  than others would have in their lifetime.

_“It’ll be like old times, Luke. They’ll never stop us.”_

Luke liked to believe Biggs had been right, in a certain way. They had not stopped the Rebels; the Empire had taken a blow. He knew that, wherever he was now, Biggs was okay with that. He had done good. Still, Luke couldn’t help wishing he had been able to spend more time with him.

The young pilot looked up the stairs, his eyes passing over the folded flags to come to a rest on the Princess. She was once again clad in regal robes that only underlined her grace as she accompanied her heartfelt speech with sweeping gestures. He tried to  focus on her words.

“…Okand, Thurlow Harris, Doyle Skims. All these brave pilots fought for a good cause. They fought for the end of tyranny and helped in our effort to return peace and light to the galaxy. Their deaths have not been in vain, and they will not be forgotten.” She paused, letting her gaze sweep over the crowd, for an instant even catching Luke’s glance before she continued. “Unbeknownst to most, another great warrior gave his life on that day. In assisting in my rescue and the retrieval of the construction data of the Death Star, he did more than his duty. He devoted his life to good and served our cause with as much loyalty as he had my father’s before me. His wisdom will be dearly missed. General Kenobi…”, she looked up to the ceiling, as if she might just be able to spot the old man, “our gratitude is unending…”

Luke felt he must be losing his mind, for it was as if in response to the Princess’s praise and thanks, a low, amused chuckle echoed around him. He didn’t know if it had actually been there, it felt much more like a fleeting dream than anything else, the odd memory filling the blanks. Additionally, a quick look at those standing around him made it clear that they had heard nothing. Still, Luke could almost feel the presence, just as if the old hermit were standing behind him, watching over him protectively.

_Ben…_

His mind had certainly been on him a lot in the past few days. And even in the nights. He seemed to haunt his dreams, as if he were trying to relay a message that was just barely beyond Luke’s grasp. Images had started forming in his mind, memories of faces, experiences, places, as if to guide him. He felt that Ben was intent on leading him somewhere, to bring about some fated event. Luke had no idea how all of this worked, but he had no doubt that the old man was manipulating the Force to his very will. In a way, though, the young man was glad for the distraction, since they had driven away other dreams that had kept him awake many nights. Dreams he preferred to not remember at that very moment.

He had not slept a full, undisturbed night in weeks.

He had already made up his mind: if Ben was indeed guiding him, he would follow. It surely would not be easy, but he felt it was the right path.

Within moments, the room sprang to sudden life, tearing young Skywalker from his daydreams. Apparently, the memorial service had been concluded, for all those that had - up until now - been attentively listening in silence were now hurrying out through the large double doors of the Throne Room to occupy themselves with their next tasks. Luke remained frozen for a while, a stream of uniformed Rebels coursing around him. He knew that there were many important duties to be fulfilled at a time like this, but somehow he could not get his body to obey his silent orders.

From his peripheral vision, he caught a small white shape traveling through the ranks in his direction; it took him a little to realize that it was the Princess, making her way over to him.

"Luke", she smiled gently as their eyes connected, "I am glad you came."

The young pilot felt himself at a momentary loss of words, not unlike the first time they had met in the prison cell on the Death Star, a day that seemed to belong to a different era, another time, but was in fact only a few days past.

"You were really good up there", he complimented her honestly, at the same time noticing how much like the Tatooine farm boy he must sound, and thus quickly added, "It… uh… was a really nice service."

_Well done, Luke, now that was much better_ , he thought to himself, resisting the urge to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.

A wide smile sprang to Leia's lips at his words, and a chuckle, even if barely retained, was oh so apparent in her eyes.

"Thank you", after an instance, however, a sigh escaped her lips and her bright eyes dimmed a little, "Although this is one of the duties I have never really become accustomed to. The losses…"

Her voice caught in her throat as her gaze wandered back towards the dais from which she had spoken, resting ever so shortly on the pedestal that had held the folded flags - which had already been handed over the respective squadron leaders.

Again, Luke found himself battling his own body. He wanted so dearly to just gather her in his arms and eradicate the sad look she wore, to tell her that all would be fine, and not to worry. After all, she was not someone who allowed herself to show weakness in front of others, and would thus likely suffer through it all alone. Still, it was impossible. He simply stood rooted to the spot, looking every bit like a lost child waiting to be collected by its parents.

Thankfully, the Princess broke the awkward silence as she forced her lips to curl upward in a small, bittersweet smile and commented: "But this is no time to linger in the past. Running a rebellion against a galactic Empire does require quite some attention."

Luke responded with an open but tired smile.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

She suppressed another chuckle before her expression turned serious yet again and she regarded him with a slight frown.

"Luke…", she began, hesitating for a moment as if unsure how to continue, all the while intently searching his gaze, "is everything all right? You seem rather… disconnected lately."

The young man had no idea how she managed to have such an effect on him, but it was as if her stare went right through him, reading the thoughts he was ever so intent on keeping to himself. In that very moment, he felt the urge to spill his soul to her, to confide in her about everything that had been haunting him these past weeks: the nightmares, the growing nothingness in his chest, the odd sensations he felt every now and then, even the plans he had made and intended to keep secret for the time being, the path Kenobi's presence seemed to be pushing him along.

But he resisted. Instead, he shook his head, a boyish smile softening his features.

"Nah, I'm fine. Being a member of the Rebel Alliance is just a little busier than anything I've been used to back home." he added with a short backwards gesture his head, as if the soldering suns of Tatooine were right behind him. "Not as hot, though, luckily."

"So I've heard." she commented.

Both shared genuine smiles. Leia seemed satisfied with his explanation, at least for the moment, and Luke was glad she had decided not to pry any further.

"Well, I am afraid I have to leave. The schedule is rather tight today." she stated after a quick glance at her chronometer. "I hope to see you at the Thila briefing tonight!"

As soon as the words had left her lips, the Princess was already hurrying toward the exit, her hand gesturing a curt wave.

"I'll be there!" Luke simply shouted after her, watching her retreating form.

And so he would, even if the Thila meeting would not be of so much importance to him should everything work out as he intended.

 

       The Rebel Alliance's main freighter hangar was bustling with activity. As serene and silent as these hallowed halls might have been many years ago when the temple was still being used as such, it now saw its share of action and industry. Mechanical noises, shouts, commands, nervous laughter and busy shuffling swept through the cool corridors and out into the primal forests of Yavin 4. Ever since the paradisal moon had witnessed the Alliance's frantic struggle against and subsequent triumph over the Empire's monstrous battle-station, quiet had not once fallen over the scene.

   While the battle had been won, the war was still far from over. And now that the Empire had knowledge of the current whereabouts of the Rebel group, relocation to a new base was the top priority. Only minutes after the explosion had brightened the atmosphere, analysts had begun scouring the navigational charts and databases for potential candidates, planets that would allow the Alliance to escape from the Empire's watchful eye and continue their dealings unobserved.

   Spies in the enemy's ranks had reported that the Empire was gathering its troops in a nearby system, obviously waiting until their strength in numbers and weaponry would allow them to secure a quick success. Naturally, the Alliance would not wait for this. Within the next forty-eight hours, relocation of the Rebel fleet would be finalized and they would be abandoning Yavin 4 for Thila, a small planet in the Gordian Reach of the Outer Rim. Its vegetation was rather similar to that present on the current base, even though Thila featured spectacular mountain ranges that would hopefully allow them to remain undetected for a while.

   Thila Command, however, would be a temporary solution only. Technicians and engineers had already been dispatched to a much more promising candidate to prepare the uninhabitable planet for future use; the ice-world of Hoth in the Anoat sector seemed like the last planet any humanoid - or rather mammalian - life-form would willingly settle down on. As Luke had put it just the day before, the planet had nothing to offer to anyone - except them; the asteroid belt surrounding Hoth made it difficult for ships to reach its surface and would thus likely keep them from having unwelcome visitors for a while. Unfortunately, setting up generators and terraforming the frozen caves into a habitable base would require a not quite insignificant amount of time, so that the out-of-the-way Thila would serve as a temporary seat until Echo Base was completed.

_All the better,_ Han thought to himself with a lopsided grin. He had given in and agreed to help the Rebel fleet in their move to their next base from where he would leave for his rendezvous with Jabba the Hutt to get rid off the price tag attached to his head. And if his last stop with the Rebels was going to be a nice, pleasantly temperate planet rather than some ugly, freezing lump of ice, _all the better._

   The steady drone of voices and mechanics lulled him into a daze as he strode through the ranks of transporters currently in the service of the Rebel Alliance, a ragtag collection of varying types, sizes and conditions. Some vessels were so battered and broken that they spent much more time in a maintenance hangar than in space. One such specimen, a gamma-class ATR-6 assault transport ship was currently under the scrutiny of an unusually large crowd of technicians. From what Han had heard the day before, one of the turbolasers had released an energy burst during a routine check of the navigational systems and had, in the process, smoldered not only the hull of the transporter itself but also singed and - in part damaged - the smaller YT-1300s in its vicinity. If it weren't for the transporter's strong hull, it would likely have been blown to scraps. It still baffled the technicians how a routine check could have caused an accident such as this.

   As for Han, the smuggler was anything but surprised. Considering the Alliance's 'suppliers', he was still amazed such incidents did not occur more often.

   Anyway, as long as nobody touched his _Falcon_ , he could care less.

   Suddenly, the steady drone of noises was penetrated by a rather unique sound, somewhat tinny and nervous in tone, that immediately tore him from his thoughts.

   "Captain Solo! Captain Solo!"

_Oh, wonderful,_ Han thought, inwardly cursing his bad luck. Having C-3PO around usually meant a significant reduction in productivity - and rise in irritability.

   Excitedly waving his arms as far as the mechanical joints permitted, the bronze protocol droid stumbled towards Solo.

   "Captain Solo! You _must_ talk to him immediately!"

_Just humor him,_ Han thought with a sigh.

   "What is it, buddy?"

   With 3PO, one could never be sure what to expect. He might announce the sudden end of the universe, or that he had spotted a leaking oil-tank. Likely, however, both were equally important to him.

   "It is Chewbacca, Captain! I tried to point out his mistake to him, and I have been very polite and patient, but he will not listen to reason. I think it best if you observe the repairs on the _Millennium Falcon,_ Captain Solo. However, I simply cannot understand why…"

   While the droid rattled on and on about how insensibly Solo's 'hairy companion' was behaving, said captain was already darting toward his ship, trying to see what his co-pilot could be doing to his lady. And as soon as he did, every drop of blood in his body rushed into his head.

   "Chewie! What in the stars do you think you're doing?" he yelled up the ladder, "You really want to connect those old power lines to the new shield support? Are you trying to get us killed?!"

   Chewbacca's growled reply, however, fell on deaf ears as Han heard the Princess calling his name as she ushered through crowds toward him. Within moments, the smuggler felt his attention divided between his companion and the tiny woman that had just reached him.

   His anger was slowly dissipating.

   With a sigh, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and shot Chewbacca an annoyed look.

   "Just go get some new ones, all right?"

   He could have sworn that the Wookiee had rolled his eyes before making his way off the freighter in search for the spare parts. It was moments like this one that made him truly appreciate the life debt connecting him and the Wookiee - and that had effectively kept him from bodily harm on many occasions.

   "So you're quite busy, I suspect…" Leia began, drawing his attention to her.

   "Not as much as you, Your Highness", he taunted, yet instead of giving her time to retort, he turned back to the _Falcon_ and added, "Well, once the fleet gets its move on, I'll be out of here. I don't plan on staying planet-side any longer than absolutely necessary."

   The Princess stepped forward so that he would be able to see her from the corner of his eyes and straightened herself.

   "I believe you do remember our arrangement…" she began.

   He quickly waved his right hand in dismissal.

   "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, Your Graciousness. I'll help with the transport runs until Thila Base is up and running. But right after that, I'll be off saving my own ass for once."

   "Fine", Leia huffed sternly.

   Han was expecting that to be the end of it and started for the ladder to check on the progress of the repairs, but halted with his foot on the first step as she remained rooted to the spot.

   "Luke…", she began, hesitating, wondering how to best phrase her thoughts. "He appears somewhat withdrawn lately. I… was wondering if you possibly knew anything."

   Han turned his torso, all the while remaining in his spot, and shook his head.

   "Well, Princess, the kid's been through a lot lately, with the old geezer dying and all. Just cut him some slack."

   There was a momentary silence during which she probably considered his beliefs until she interjected quietly with a thoughtful look:

   "I don't know. I think there is more to it than that."

   The smuggler shot her quick look, one eyebrow raised in question.

   "It is just this feeling that there is something else bothering him." she explained.

   "A feeling, huh?" he smirked. "Caught the Force from the old guy? Never knew it was contagious."

   Leia shot him a rebuking look, but before she could comment, he flashed a disarming but honest smile.

   "Relax. Luke's a tough cookie. He'll be fine."

   "Yes, you may be right", Leia considered, "however, I would appreciate if you could… keep an eye on him -- just in case."

   "Sure, will do." he agreed, "Whatever makes you sleep at night."

   Quite obviously, the Princess resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him but while she stalked off, he could still hear her mutter something along the lines of 'unbelievable'.

   Han, for that matter, decided to take that as a compliment and smirked to himself as he finally ascended the ladder.  He definitely would keep an eye out for the boy; while he believed everything he had said about Luke, he had been noticing his strange behavior as well and did not have an entirely comfortable feeling about it either.

   As he grabbed a hydrospanner and bent down over the exposed circuitry of the maintenance panel, he shoved that concern to the back of his mind; concern that was usually entirely unlike him, hoping that the boy would live up to the image he had created of him.

 

       The inside of the Dark Lord's meditation capsule was perfectly silent. Owing to the elevated levels of oxygen within the sealed chamber, there was no need for a respirator and the constant mechanical in- and exhale was replaced by his own low, labored breathing. 

   Vader sat in light meditation, feeding the hunger of the Dark Side with remnants of the images and turmoil that the Emperor's retribution had evoked. He could feel the Force surround him, greedily preying at every negative emotion within him, clawing and tearing at all the hate, hurt, betrayal and loss he had experienced, and in this progress intensifying them, reopening the wounds until they equalled abysses beyond repair, beyond healing.

   He loathed what he had become, loathed the ebony shell that restricted him as much as it kept him alive. At times, the sound of his own automated breathing, the crimson tint of his vision drove him to the edge of his sanity - though he often wondered if, after all those years, there was even any left - made him want to lash out and somehow, SOMEHOW break free from his prison.

   At times like those, he retreated into his meditation capsule - to complete silence and, for once, the ability of breathing and seeing by himself. He would be alone, yet his thoughts would always accompany him, constantly reminding him of where he was, and how he had come to be in such a position. In the years after his turning, his then new existence had almost driven him into insanity. Despite the respirator, he had felt he was suffocating, literally crushed under the weight of his own armor. It had taken practice and an unimaginable amount of patience and self control to accept who he had become. And still, even after almost two decades, he sometimes still felt trapped, trapped through himself, trapped in himself. His disgust and hatred for his own existence and form had anything but decreased. He had learned, however, to use those feelings productively, to fuel the Dark Side so it would grant him access to even greater power and abilities still far from his reach.

Often, usually when exceedingly vexed with his respirator, he would set to work on healing himself. Not the scars in his face - beauty was a concept that had no place in his life - nor the often aching stumps of his limbs. No, he would let the Force gush through his lungs, his trachea, hoping he would be able to somehow regain their use, even if it was limited. But so far, his success had hardly been encouraging; he had never managed to breathe by himself for more than mere seconds, and the instantaneous loss of the ability to do so brought with it only more hatred, more hurt.

   Beside Vader's left shoulder, a bluish light flashed twice, indicating an encrypted incoming message. The Dark Lord straightened his back as his gloved fingers darted over to a console, inputing a series of commands that activated the opening sequence for the capsule and subsequently lowered the mask that had come to feel so much like the lid of his own coffin.

   With a sharp hiss, oxygen levels were reduced and the durasteel claws slid apart and revealed the large, wall-mounted holovid. Vader accepted the transmission and watched the display flicker to life. Apparently, the user on the other side had not been able to procure a stable link. He sincerely hoped the man had done a better job at what he was being paid for.

   "Lord Vader", a static-distorted voice greeted nervously. The man addressing the Dark Lord was barely out of his twenties, very young for a spy. However, dire situations required new measures, and he had gone through his regular channels and sources without any luck.

   "What have you found?" Vader's baritone thundered, a demand rather than a question.

   "I… the Rebels have strengthened their security. It is absolutely impossible to breach their ranks." the young spy explained himself but was cut short as Vader raised his hand.

   "Impossibilities do not exist. Have you procured the name?"

   Even through the static it was easy to make out the nervousness in the young man's voice and facial features. His eyes momentarily shifted from the transmitter.

   "All I could find out was that he is supposed to be a young man from the Outer Rim territories who only recently joined the Rebellion. That is all I…"

   The man never had the chance to finish his attempted apology. His hands reached for his throat, clawing at some invisible attacker. Within seconds, his lifeless body slumped out of view and Vader cut off the transmission. He felt a new wave of rage and frustration welling up inside of him. Ever since the Battle of Yavin, he had been looking for traces of information on the identity of the pilot that had destroyed their battle station in his trench run. But more than his piloting skills, it was this strange Force signature he had felt from him. There was something about it, something he could not quite pinpoint, something just out of his reach. He found himself constantly distracted by the memory, a blunder he could not tolerate.

   Yet considering the incompetence his subordinates were displaying in this situation, it appeared that he would have to move into action himself.

   Again, the bluish flicker caught his attention. Vader recognized the code and accepted the transmission.

   "My Lord, the fleet has moved into position in the Kalamith sector. The _Executor_ has been checked and is ready for departure for the Yavin system as soon as you have boarded."

   "Very well, Admiral", Vader acknowledged.

   Without further comment, he cut the transmission and, after unfolding his legs, rose to his imposing height. Now he would take matters into his own hands. There would be no more failures.


	3. Departures

A bright flash caused his fighter’s transparisteel canopy to darken momentarily, and among the general clatter and excitement of battle it took him a moment to realize what had happened.

“We lost Biggs,” he heard Wedge’s voice yelling through the com, strangely muffled by the sound of explosions intruding from space.

Luke did not answer. His eyes watered at the reality sinking in and his hands tightened around the controls. Reunited with his best friend hours ago, only to have him taken from him again. For good.

As the battle raged on around him, he was barely aware of his surroundings. A myriad of emotions rushed in on him at once, assaulting him with much more terrifying force than any of the Imperial fighters could claim to. Sadness at the loss of one so dear to him, at never being able to see him again…

_We’re like shooting stars, nothing can stop us!_

Rage. An unchecked, burning rage at those who had separated them again. Blinding rage at that black blasphemy of a man, piloting the TIE at his back. At that same man who had murdered Ben, slain him with the blade of his crimson lightsaber when the old man was not even defending himself.

And rage gave birth to a lust for revenge he had never experienced before. It shot through his veins, allowed him glimpses of the murderer pursuing him, as if taunting the boy with the sight of his mask.

It gave him focus.

His fighter danced through the incoming fire effortlessly and he closed his eyes. He no longer needed them to see.

He felt the thermal exhaust port come into reach of his weaponry and, with a smirk of satisfaction, pressed the trigger.

Within seconds, the battle station vanished in an inferno.

He felt thousands of voices cry out to him in his mind, their last expressions of confusion. Surprise. Pain.

Fear.

He held on to that feeling, feeding that shadowy being screaming for revenge.

Quietly, a crackling faded into his cockpit and rose in volume. The smell of fire and smoldering flesh penetrated his nostrils. But he was far from disgusted.

With a sure step, he marched through the small, enclosed space, his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness. But he could not stop and pause. There was work to be done here.

He came upon a medium-sized chamber. It held resemblance to a living room, and had possibly been used as such. The wall was crumbling in places, unable to withstand the sudden attack. The ceiling had caved under the bombardment, and he could clearly make out the beaten torso of a man under the rubble, his head bloodied, clothes torn to shreds exposing deep gashes and bruises. Something told him he had once known the man, that he should recognize the battered form, and attribute some sort of feeling to him. Maybe even sadness on behalf of his demise. But there was nothing. Not that he cared.

There was no more life in the man, that much he could perceive clearly, so there was no need for him to bother with the stranger any further.

A whimpering suddenly caught his ears and he methodically sought out its source. In the back of the chamber, a woman sat cowering in the corner, staring at the heap of rubble - quite possibly the man, he mused - while tears ran down her face. She was an elderly woman, dressed in plain clothing, her wrinkled features dirtied in mud, covered in blood from a wound on her forehead.

As she noticed his arrival, her eyes shifted to him, her stare filled with sadness. And strangely enough disappointment.

Just as with the man, there was the odd sensation of familiarity. But he pushed it aside. He had no time for sentimentalities, would not let any ghosts haunt his mind.

With an almost instinctive, fluid motion, his hand slid to his belt, gripped the cool, metallic handle of his lightsaber and ignited it. The crimson blade bathed the chamber in an eerie glow, the pulsating strength sending a tingling shiver of pleasure across his skin. Of anticipation.

He took a measured step forward and slightly raised the blade. This would be a feat easily accomplished. The woman did not promise much resistance.

Unfortunately.

She opened her mouth, her lower lip quivering, and he stifled a laugh at the thought of her pathetic pleas for release and pardon. She certainly would not get any.

“Luke… why?”

Luke’s heart seemed to pound in his throat as he awoke with a start. He was drenched in cold sweat, his light clothing sticking to his body uncomfortably.

It had come again, he realized, a hand flying to his chest to quell the tightening feeling. His nightmares had found him yet again. Ben had not come to dispel them this time.

He dropped his head with a tired sigh. It was always the same. Always the same pictures, partly memories, partly something else he did not dare define. And always the same feelings. There was a sense of darkness surrounding those dreams, creeping into his body as if it was aiming for his very soul. Lately it followed him in his waking hours as well. The sadness was always there; it was something he had not yet managed to lose after the recent battle, and he knew it would take time, sometimes feared he might never be able to. But this rage and the lust for revenge… every time he experienced them, he was shocked by their sheer brutality. He certainly had been angered before in his life - growing up on Tatooine with a foster father who imposed more laws than he allowed liberties had left him anything but content with his situation - but never had he felt anything as raw as that.

Still, they felt terrifyingly real, vivid - and sometimes managed to sneak up on him, leaving him completely rattled.

He could not make head nor tail of it all, as much as he tried. He supposed that his conscience might be blaming him for the lives he extinguished along with the Empire’s battle station - and with a sinking feeling in his stomach he had to admit to himself that he still spent hours trying to somehow reason with his mind, to tell it that it had been necessary, for the greater good, that it saved many lives in the long run - but he had the strange feeling that there was more to it than just that. Something of far greater importance than just his own peace of mind.

_If only Ben was still here…_

There were so many questions he ached to ask the old man, about so many things. And he knew Ben would have had the answers. He always had. But the chance was gone.

_Ben_ was gone.

Running a hand through his clammy hair, he glanced at the chrono. 0300. Great, he thought with a sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed, slightly flinching at the coldness of the floor.

But even if he could no longer ask the man, he certainly could follow the clues he had left him.

Wearily, he changed into a pair of brown pants, a dark blue shirt and his black boots. There was no use in trying to go back to sleep, since he knew - from experience - that it would not come back to him; so he decided to make use of his time and quietly slipped out of his private quarters into the empty corridors.

Nights on a Rebel base were usually just as busy as the days, mostly due to the constant danger of discovery through Imperial Forces, so that when stationed in underground bases or on unfamiliar planets it often became hard to distinguish between them. That night, however, proved to be strikingly different. Since the Rebel fleet was abandoning Yavin base the following day, there was only a skeleton crew observing the location and preparing the vessels for departure. It had been decided that the pilots and officers should be well rested, for their escape would almost certainly meet with some sort of resistance.

As a result, Luke made his way to the central lift without meeting more than a handful of people. Even when he exited on the first level, the enormous hall now doubling as the Rebel Alliance’s main hangar, he only spied two technicians, buzzing around the nose of a rather beaten-down Y-Wing. _Looks like the primary sensor array is acting up again_ , Luke thought, vaguely remembering Salm complaining about inconclusive readouts after a recent scouting flight. Then again, most of the work was probably being done on the subterranean level right below him, where the larger transport ships were being kept. There was no chance of ever returning to the base once it would be abandoned, so everything needed to be packed, loaded and strapped down. Moving bases was, as Leia had told him on many occasions, anything but an easy matter. And he was beginning to see why.

Passing through the rows of Y-Wings, he finally reached Red Squadron’s section and walked up to his own fighter. Technically, of course, the T-65 did not belong to him, but it was very common for fighter pilots to develop strong connections to their machines, often heavily modifying them, so that they eventually became like extensions of their bodies.

With a sinking feeling, Luke let his gaze wander across the empty space surrounding his and Wedge’s X-Wings. Out of the twelve fighters in Red Squadron, only the two of them had made it out alive after the battle against the Death Star. Even though it had been a victory for the Alliance, it had truly been a costly one. And it would not be the last battle - a fact that still made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew he would have to get used to the bloodshed, the losses of war - it was fought with a good cause in mind - and he eventually would, he was sure, even if it went against all of his principles and scared him out of his mind.

Almost lovingly, reverently, he ran a hand along the slanted nose of his fighter. For years he had dreamed of having the chance to pilot a ship in deep space, had imagined the exhilarating feeling of flying without the pull and restrictions gravity imposed on him when behind the controls of his skyhopper racing through Beggar’s Canyon. And, oh, he had not been disappointed. No matter how often he took off in his X-Wing, be it for fighting, scouting or simply training runs, he never grew tired of it. For only then he felt completely free and detached from the worries of his day to day life. His body and mind submitted themselves entirely to the act of flying, awarding him with an adrenaline rush stronger and decidedly more real than he had ever felt before. If there was one thing he was certain about in his life, it was that flying was supposed to be a part of it - and it would always be.

Wiping off some thermal residue, Luke regarded his snub fighter with a judging eye. Fortunately, she had received only minor damage during the battle, almost all of which had already been repaired - the remaining quirks having no impact on her efficiency. He had already rechecked the engines and sensor systems he had been tweaking in the past few days - mainly to keep himself occupied and his mind from wandering the places he did not want it to travel - and everything had checked out above standard. There was nothing keeping him planetside now; however, the was a section of rather frail looking wiring in the astromech socket that bugged him. It would hold out for a while, he was sure, but his pilot’s - and mechanical enthusiast’s - pride would not allow him to leave it unfixed. Well, it would be a short job and once he was done and had finished packing what little he owned, he would be free to leave.

_The sooner the better,_ he thought with a tingle of excitement. Getting out of the base would not be a problem; he’d just tell flight control that he’d take his fighter for a last test run. They’d let him go. There was a reason the old man was haunting his sleeping - and waking - hours, trying to guide him along a certain path, and for some reason Luke could not wait to find out what it was. True, if he was completely honest with himself, he had admit to being somewhat anxious, but it simply wasn’t in his character to let that stop him. As a general rule, curiosity always won for Skywalker.

And very shortly, it would be satisfied. He smirked, and grabbing a hydrospanner, was already halfway up the vehicle, when a thought crossed his mind.

_Leia._

Luke slowed down his ascent and eventually became completely still. He couldn’t very well leave without letting the Princess know. He didn’t want her to worry about him - even if the thought gave him a fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach - worry as she would about every one of her companions suddenly disappearing, he assured himself. She might even form a search and rescue party and put herself in unnecessary danger.

Slowly, he descended and planted his feet on solid ground, as if to steady his whirling thoughts. Yet certainly, if he were to tell her, she would try to dissuade him from going - and with that stern senatorial reasoning and heart-melting look, should would succeed easily.

But Luke could not have that. He needed to go.

Opening the cargo compartment, he rummaged around for a few moments before he found what he was looking for. Holding the datapad’s handle tightly, he glanced around the hangar. He was well out of hearing range of the two technicians he had seen before and since his arrival, nobody else seemed to have entered. He was clear.

Running his fingers across the touch-sensitive screen of the pad, he activated the ‘record’ function and put on a serious face - only to realize he had no idea what to say.

_Well, too late._

“Leia… ah… Princess…”, he stammered, “I guess I’m not really good at this, but …um… well… maybe I should have rehearsed this”, he continued with a sheepish smile, barely resisting the urge to slap his own forehead for sounding so much like a little lost farmboy, “Anyway… before I tell you anything, I need you to promise that…”

 

Leia sighed impatiently as she mentally begged the turbolift to move faster than the crawling speed at which it seemed to be descending currently. She had never particularly liked moving bases with all its chaos and hectic bustling - it was very costly on their resources, not to mention the time it took to get fully situated at a new base. Often, while they were still scouting their new terrain, the Imperials had already gained knowledge of their whereabouts, forcing them to relocate yet again. It was a cat-and-mouse game, and that penetrant feline was getting ever quicker. At least this time, they had been able to deliver a quite decisive blow.

But now it was time to move out.

As the Princess stepped out of the lift and into the main hangar, she was assaulted by the noisy clatter of hundreds of officers, pilots and other Alliance members rushing to and fro. The fighters ran through pre-flight checks and  astromechs were mounted while their pilots underwent last minute briefings. It was only a matter of minutes now.

Being a member of Alliance High Command, the Princess should now be reporting at one of the transporters to get safe passage off-planet, but she had wanted to pay Luke one last visit, well aware of the dangers of the mission that lay before them. She still could not shake the feeling that something was decidedly off about him, and she hoped that it would give her some peace of mind to send him off with some kind words. They had become very much like family in the past few weeks - much more so than she ever truly realized - their personal backgrounds at the same time completely different and yet so alike.

Before Leia had even reached the landing position of Red Squadron, she noticed Captain Antilles approaching with a quick step.

“Captain Antilles…” Leia greeted him with a nod, at the same time trying to read the pilot’s expression. It was a mixture of worry and… and something else she could not quite decipher.

“Princess”, he responded to her greeting with a brief bow, “I believe we have a small problem.”

She waited for him to elaborate, as there was a sense of urgency in his words.

“Skywalker’s gone. According to flight control, he took off shortly before 0400, claiming to go on a test run of his modified engine systems. However, he has not yet reported back, and scans show that he likely entered hyperspace shortly after take off.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” she half-shouted, trying to retain her composure.

“Maintenance reports that his R2 unit as well as other personal effects are missing.” Antilles could not help shaking his head, almost as if he had been expecting such an incident. “Looks like Luke left on a private trip.”

“I cannot believe this”, she frowned, “Leaving at a time like this, without notifying anyone. It isn’t like Luke at all.”

“Well,” Antilles began and raised his right hand, presenting a datapad to the Princess. “This was found in his quarters. He seems to have left a message for you.”

She accepted the small device confusedly.

With a curt nod and a few courteous words, the pilot was already hurrying back in the direction of his own machine, preparing for take off while at the same time awarding the Princess the possibility of privacy to play Skywalker’s parting message.

Still slightly puzzled but undeniably curious, she activated the datapad and instantly found the message, indeed directed at her, marked as unopened. A recorded holo.

Upon opening the file, a tiny, bluish duplicate of Luke’s head, neck and upper torso flickered to life.

“Leia… ah… Princess…”, his voice stammered, and small smile crept to Leia’s lips, “I guess I’m not really good at this, but …um… well… maybe I should have rehearsed this”, he continued with a innocent, sheepish smile, that, to Leia, had become almost a trademark of the former Tatooine farmboy. “Anyway… before I tell you anything, I need you to promise that you won’t commandeer Han and Chewie and embark on some search and rescue mission.”

Well, either she was becoming predictable or Luke had finally learned how to read her mind.

“I’m sorry to leave like this, without telling anyone”, the holo continued, “but there is something I feel like I need to do. I know it sounds crazy, but I think Ben is trying to show me something. He’s been appearing in my dreams for a while now, showing and telling me things. I’m not sure, but it might have something to do with the Force.”

He paused for a while, obviously pondering on his own words, before he continued with a hint of that farmboyish smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Princess. Once I’ve worked this out, I’ll head after you. I’ll be back before you know it!”

With that, the holo flickered once more and finally dissolved. Leia’s eyes lingered for a while on the now empty spot of air.

_Somehow I have a really bad feeling about this…_

 

A noticeable chill crept through the air of the _Executor’s_ bridge as her commander’s thundering footsteps announced his impending arrival. Heads lowered perceivably and muscles tensed. All eyes instantly went to the imposing figure of the Dark Lord of the Sith, his sable cloak billowing behind him like an ominous cloud, a foreboding image from the deepest nightmares.

Vader clearly felt the fear he provoked in his subordinates, a notion that had been his lone constant companion for the past two decades. He was no stranger to the sight of seasoned officers cowering in his presence. Few men had the strength of character to face him undaunted, and those who did often lacked the common sense to realize the actual direness of their situation and would later regret that very fact. While it was certainly empowering, it often left him longing for a greater challenge, an adversary that might test his skills, keep them from dulling.

And finally, after so many years, through the discovery of the singular Force signature in the Rebel pilot, such a challenge seemed to become a possibility once more. His senses quivered in anticipation, ushering him ahead ever further heedlessly, whispering to him to lay any other matters aside to solely dedicate himself to finding that man. The Dark Side was doubtlessly guiding him. Once more, the Force seemed to be holding Vader’s fate in its grasp.

As he reached the end of the command walkway, a senior officer waiting for him saluted briskly.

“Status, Captain.” Vader’s voice rumbled, clearly commanding. His senses alerted him to a sudden rise in anxiety levels among the bridge crew at the sound of his words, but he barely took notice anymore.

The Captain clasped his hands behind himself and straightened his posture.

“Lord Vader, we will be reaching Yavin in approximately two standard hours.” He reported with a firm voice, “Destroyers _Crucible, Devastator, Avenger_ and _Tyrant_ report ready for confrontation. Black Eight Squadron and supports are on stand-bye, troop transports and shuttles are manned and ready for deployment.”

This man had clearly proved as capable as Vader had hoped when selecting him, he thought with a certain level of complacency. He considered it integral that all officers on his flagship be handpicked and of the highest quality. So far, the rate of sudden ‘defection’ was rather low.

“Very well, Captain Piett”, Vader commented, “See to it that my personal ships are prepared. Instruct the ground troops that nothing is to be destroyed unless on my direct command.”

“Yes, my Lord”, Piett answered curtly.

He bowed to his superior and left to personally carry out the orders he had been given. A thorough man, the Dark Lord noticed, pleased.

Turning away to the main viewport and linking his hands behind his back, his eyes scanned the empty space in front of him. In all honesty, Vader did not expect to find any Rebels once they reached Yavin 4. Their little organization had an irritatingly efficient net of spies, defective Imperial soldiers rotten enough to sell their own beliefs to the highest bidder. The more he exterminated, the more seemed to be appearing throughout all ranks of both military and government. Without doubt, they would have heard of the gathering of Vader’s personal Death Squadron and hastened the flight that had begun the day the Death Star had targeted the small moon.

It was all the same to Vader. His current priorities lay elsewhere.

Shutting down his external senses, he let the Dark Side roar through him, allowed the strong beast some freedom on its feeble chain and mentally stretched out beyond the stars and to the green moon. There it was. Unmistakably. A trace of that signature he had felt. A residue, nothing more, yet still so utterly radiant and powerful that he had to resist the urge to withdraw from it. The more he approached it, the stronger the light seemed to whisper to him, to try and communicate a message that should have been obvious to him.

It taunted him, pulled him in only to slither away.

With a sense of vexation, he lunged forward again and again, trying to latch onto the remains of the signature and force it to speak to him, but it kept mocking him, goading him to get ever closer to that unbearably bright light.

For a last time, he dashed forward, sending the dark tendrils rocketing into the glow. Yet they lashed into nothingness; the trace was still there but it would not allow itself to be captured. It jumped in front of him, as in a manic dance, like a laughing child that had just outwitted its parent.

With an inward roar, Vader abruptly pulled back, at the same time frustrated, enraged and, strangely, satisfied. It irritated him beyond belief that he should not be able to obtain the information he wanted, that this thing, so obviously untrained and _childish,_ even, should be able to mock a Sith Lord almost effortlessly. Yet a signature of such brute strength, especially of someone untrained, promised even far greater strength in the bearer himself. His potential  should be exceeding anything the Force had brought forth in hundreds of years past. Endowed with control through the proper training, the bearer of this signature would be an enormous asset to Vader. If all went as he intended, Vader would finally be able to step out of Palpatine’s shadow, would no longer have to enforce the old man’s twisted ideas, would no longer be kept in check by this parody of a man.

Yet he needed to exercise patience. Careful planning would be required. This was an opportunity Vader would not waste; he had waited for far too long.

The Rebel base would give him answers, that much he felt.

The Dark Side had set into motion.


	4. To Tatooine

"Alright alright, R2."

The astromech's incessant beeping was slowly but surely starting to take a toll on his patience. Apparently, the little one was not too pleased with his master's choice of destination, and thus seemed to feel the need to constantly voice his thoughts, possibly in hopes of changing the human's mind. Truth to be told, Luke had his doubts - once in a while - whether it had been right to take R2 along, but considering everything the two of them had been through together in this albeit short time, Luke had not had the heart to take a different unit.

"I know, I don't like it here much either. But it's our safest bet."

Another beep, somewhat incredulous this time.

"Okay, maybe not the _safest_ , but definitely the best," Luke corrected quickly, "Now hold still so I can get you out of there."

Luke's gaze jumped over his surroundings nervously as he deactivated the security restraints in the droid’s socket and, with some help from the maintenance crane, heaved his small companion from his position behind the cockpit down onto the ground.

The little one's words were definitely getting to him; the more his mind dwelt on what he was about to do, the more his stomach started to churn. If the starting point was any sort of indication, his journey would definitely be an interesting one, to say the least. But as he had already told R2, this was simply their best bet.

The planet Llanic deep in the Outer Rim was home to a number of shadowports frequented by all kinds of smugglers, thieves or individuals seeking escape from the Empire for other reasons. Being close to two major space routes had kept it in their favor for hundreds of years, so finding adequate transport should hardly be a problem.

Whoever thought Mos Eisley was a dreadful place had apparently never seen anything of Llanic, Luke mused with a frown as he and R2 started making their way through the dingy backstreets to the nearest cantina. While Han's descriptions had been... colorful, what Luke saw now was unlike anything he could have possibly imagined. The streets were crawling with all kinds of creatures, many of which he had never seen before, had only heard of in the stories from pilots much more seasoned than him, those stories that he had loved to listen to whenever an off-world stranger had stranded on his side of Tatooine. Back then, his imagination had filled the gaps, had put a shape to all that he saw before him now. His eyes wide with wonder, he and R2 continued along the street until they found the cantina they had been looking for; apparently, establishments on Llanic did not change all that much over time, for even though his maps of the planet were decades old and should be considered outdated, everything was exactly where he had memorized from the schematics.

Taking a deep breath to calm his suddenly thumping heart, Luke took a hesitant step through the oval-shaped entranceway. Compared to the outside, brightly but coldly illuminated by a multitude of neon signs, the inside of the cantina was shrouded in darkness. He blinked several times and allowed his eyes to adjust to the new conditions.

When they finally did, he could not help opening them wide in disbelief.        

If he had believed that the outside had anything on Mos Eisley, then this place had to be ranking somewhere among the five most disgusting locations in the whole galaxy. Under his steps, the floor's smacking sound betrayed the amalgamation of several layers of spilt fluids of various ages, some quite likely having been poured years before he had been born. There was a thick coat of grime and dust covering every single inch of available surface and at once, Luke was quite content with the limited illumination, not even daring to imagine what would assault his senses if this place were to ever see bright daylight. A damp, almost sulfurous smell hung in the air, mixed with a variety of spices, fumes and other narcotics, only adding to the stark visuals.

Despite it all, however, the cantina was packed to the very last corner. But then again, it probably was not _despite_ the surroundings but rather _because_ of them. Shady individuals from almost all species of the galaxy seemed to have been drawn to this opportunity of near-invisibility; Humans, Ithorians, Rhodians and Zabrak were among the few he had seen before, as well as a small group of Togruta of varying hues of red, their thick blue and white head-tails descending from the montrals almost to their knees. Luke had always found them fascinating, even though he was forced to remember a particularly embarrassing scene back on Tosche Station where he had once mistaken a Togruta for a Twi'lek, being much too young and far too sheltered to have much experience with species not native to - or at least frequently found on - Tatooine. Nevertheless, Fixer had mocked his little blunder for weeks, as he often did when he found something to take his mind off the boring life back on Tatooine.

A decidedly urging beep sounded from the small droid at his side, and Luke placed a hand on his dome, giving it a gentle pat.

"Don't worry, R2. We'll be out of here before you know it." he appeased his companion.

Another short beep declared skepticism, but Luke did not have to patience to comment. He was far from comfortable in this place himself, and the sooner they got what they had come for, the faster they could get out here again.

The little astromech right at his heels, Luke made his way to the bar, receiving quite a number of glances from occupants of the nearby tables. They were hardly out of real interest, though, but mere curiosity at most. Apparently, it did not happen every day that a small, scrawny human found his way into this cantina, looking as extremely out of place as he felt in this very moment. If there was one thing Luke Skywalker had never been called, it was 'menacing'. Intimidation had never been one of his strong points.

The unfortunate events at Chalmun's cantina still fresh in mind, Luke hurried his already brief conversation with the bartender on further. Although there was a lightsaber at his belt - concealed under his jacket, certainly - he did not feel the wish to partake in another hand-to-hand fight. He had come to this place to keep from attracting too much attention, and wildly swinging around the ancient weapon of a religion believed to be extinct would likely not be very beneficial.

Thankfully, even though with a skeptical look in his eyes, the feisty bartender pointed Luke to a small alcove to his left, and the boy hastily hurried off in said direction.

At seeing the occupant of the small compartment, Luke gave a small, inaudible sigh.

_Now this could've been a lot worse._

Slumped forward over a glass filled with some sort of steaming fluid sat a human male, strands of malt-blond hair dangling down in front of his eyes, oil stains covering the chiseled features. The man looked to be in his late thirties, although Luke was not willing to place a bet.

More importantly, however, he seemed to be taking absolutely no notice of him.

After regarding the man for another few instances, he finally cleared his throat.

"Thaddeus Ross?"

The man's head came up lazily. He looked rather bored, but there was a glint of something akin to cockiness in his eyes.

_Smuggler's handbook, lesson 1:  Never let potential customers know you're interested._ Luke thought with an inward smirk, instantly being reminded of a certain Corellian who had certainly mastered that skill.

"Who wants to know?" Ross answered casually, the boredom even permeating his voice.

Luke hesitated for a second. Although it was unsure whether the Empire had already gained knowledge of his name, he could not risk using it and being discovered.

"Blix Marstrap", he improvised and extended his hand toward the smuggler.

The gesture was not returned, however, and Luke waited in vain for any sort of reply, so he made another attempt.

"I need a ship."

"Well, so do a lot of people, boy", Ross retorted, taking a swig from his glass.

"Look", Luke started, his patience wearing thin. "I need passage to Tatooine, and I need it now. And they say you're the only one heading out there for the next couple of days."

Again, his words did not seem to have the effect he wanted; a mere shrug being the only response he received.

Exasperated, Luke heaved a sigh. Did smugglers have to be like this? Had it been this difficult with Han was well? It was only at the memory of first meeting his Corellian friend that it finally dawned on him.

With a smug grin, he pushed a small chip across the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I have the credits, of course."

The boredom suddenly eradicated from his features, Ross picked up the credit chip and rivaled Luke's grin.

"Now we're talking."

 

Beyond the transparisteel viewport of the _Millennium Falcon_ , the large Rebel transport ships jumped into hyperspace one by one, the smaller snub fighters shadowing them in a sense of protectiveness. Right before her eyes, the entire fleet was getting on its way, leaving behind Yavin and moving on.

_Moving on_.

The Princess let out a small sigh as her eyes flitted from ship to ship, taking in their sight but never quite focused enough to take in the importance of the moment, the gravity of the situation. For speed's sake, she had decided to accompany Han on the _Falcon_. The heavily modified ship would reach Thila way before the rest of the fleet, and should any other problems arise, she considered Han and Chewbacca more than capable of handling the situation. Well, at least that was the official justification.

Personally, Leia felt the strange need to stay close to the ship, and her pilot. Since she had learned that Luke had left them to take off on his own personal crusade or soul searching - whatever it was - she had felt a strange sense of disconnect. And for some reason, it was as if the battered fighter and its crew were the only things still acknowledging the existence of the former Tatooine farmboy suddenly turned Rebel hero. Everybody was much too busy and involved with moving bases to care as much for his sudden departure as she thought they ought to. Certainly, Luke had specifically asked her not to come after him.

_'I'll be back before you know it!'_

Of course she remembered. She had replayed his message dozens of times, memorized every word, scouring his holo for any sort of hint of his intentions, and possibly even destination, but there was simply nothing there.

"Well, Your Highness, strap yourself in, we're about to make the jump into hyperspace", Han announced, striding through the cockpit and dropping himself into the pilot's seat.

His fingers jumped across the controls casually, going through motions he had gone through thousands of times before. It took him a while to notice that there were none of the usual smart replies from the small woman in the seat behind him. Placing one arm over the back of his seat, he turned around to her.

Noticing the blank look on her face, he waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention.

"Hey, Your Exaltedness, you listening?"

Finally, the young woman snapped out of her daze and slowly focused her eyes on the man in front of her.

"What were you saying?"

She did not even try to hide the fact that she had not paid any attention to him. Han now swiveled around his chair and turned to her fully. Things could not go on like this.

"Look, Princess, I know you're worried about Luke, and to be honest, I'm not too thrilled about him running off just like that either", he admitted, his eyes fixed on her, "but he's gotta do what he's gotta do."

"Han-" she began, shooting him a reprimanding look.

But he did not give her any chance to lecture him this time. Twice was already more than enough.

"Like I said, Luke's a tough one. Sure, he looks like an undersized Kallidahin and probably couldn't scare a Jawa even if he tried, but somehow he manages to pull his neck out of some really deep shit. I'm sure he'll be back soon enough, bragging about his adventures with that stupid farmboy grin of his."

He tried to reassure her with a smirk.

Leia's forehead wrinkled in concern as she crossed her arms in front of her chest indignantly.

"I still don't like this", she countered, "Luke is important to the Rebellion. If the Empire is to find out just who he is-"

"Alright!" Han interrupted, raising a hand to stop her from continuing.

The more she indulged in her cruel fantasies, the more she would drag herself down, and he was intent on not letting that happen, that much she realized, so against all her better judgement - but certainly not to please that insufferable man! - she silenced her protests.

"If we don't hear from him by the end of this standard week, Chewie and I'll help you drag his sorry backside back to us ourselves. Until then, let the kid have his own little adventure. He's got years of living on that backwater planet to make up for."

"Well, all right." Leia huffed. She did not feel like allowing the Corellian to win the argument, yet decided that she would try to see things his way. If just for the sake of her sanity.

"I still do not like this in the least."

 

How was it that all Corellian smugglers seemed to fly YT-1300s, Luke wondered as he strapped himself in the passenger seat of the freighter, R2 resting by his side watchfully.

"Any problems?" Ross's voice pulled him from his thoughts as the pilot stepped into the cockpit to busy himself with the final pre-flight checks.

"No, I was just thinking", Luke answered truthfully, his gaze still wandering around the small compartment, "A friend of mine flies a YT-1300, too. Heavily modified, though."

Ross gave a short laugh, glancing at Luke over his shoulder before returning to the instrument readouts.

"You'd have a tough time finding two YTs that have anything in common other than their manufacturer and class designation. These ladies were born to be modified", he ran a hand along the curved durasteel frame of the viewport lovingly, "My _Kierra_ has quite a few surprises in her herself."

"Yeah, I bet…" Luke replied briefly.

_And flying YT-1300s seemed to entail bragging about them, as well._

"So, kid, what's taking you to that dustball of a planet?"

"Hm? Oh!" It took Luke a few moments to realize that Ross had directed a question at him. "I… um… I grew up there. Just going back to visit some relatives of mine. Moisture farmers." Luke scowled.

Ross raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief and glanced down at the young man.

"Relatives so special they can't be reached from Mos Eisley, huh?"

Luke's heartbeat accelerated momentarily. Had the smuggler seen through his story? He _had_ never been good at lying, after all.

"Well, they live close to the Western Dune Sea, so Wayfar has the closest spaceport", Luke tried.

Yet all his attempt earned him was a hearty laugh from his older companion.

"Boy, hardly anything lives out there. Trust me." And raising an eyebrow, he added: “It wouldn’t have anything to do with all those Imps stalking around Mos Eisley now, would it?”

The sense of panic that had slowly been creeping up on Luke was now launching a full-blown attack. All blood instantly drained from his face and his fingers were starting to turn numb.

"I… we…" he stammered; R2's concerned beeping indicating that he had picked up on his master's agitation.

"Relax", Ross finally said, apparently realizing Luke's inner torture and turned around fully to the boy. Then, in a brief moment of seriousness, he continued.

"So you're not looking for trouble. Neither am I."

Instantly, a large portion of the tension in Luke's body vanished and he sank deeper into his seat. It had been a close call, but apparently, the infamous Skywalker luck was on his side once more.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to Wayfar safe and sound, 'Marstrap'."

 

Even from the planet's orbit, Vader had felt the burning pull of the signature’s trace, but now, as he stepped out into the humid air of Yavin 4, its strength seemed to be almost overwhelming, reeling him in with a might that easily surpassed that of gravity. The Force had to be exceedingly strong in the boy to leave an echo as raw and potent as this, he thought with a dark pleasure.

Paying attention neither to his breathtaking surroundings nor the multitude of officers and ground troops swarming toward the ancient temple structure, the Dark Lord devoted himself fully to the pursuit of that bright trace. He was not interested in any trivial military information. The Force led him along a path that, while invisible to the naked eye of the casual observer, to him was so blindingly obvious and promised the discovery of knowledge of far greater importance than even the most highly classified data.

With enormous strides, the Sith Lord marched across the withered stone floor, his steps hammering deafeningly even among the general clatter of the accompanying search party. Bright threads of the Force were spread through the entire area, almost like a spider's web, ready to ensnare a victim in its burning grasp even though its creator was already long gone. To the knowing and adequately trained eye, however, is was far from a maze but rather a series of interconnected paths, recounting sections of a life; it simply needed to be read and interpreted correctly. And Vader was certainly capable of deciphering the signposts.

Allowing his senses to keep a loose grasp on the blinding trace, lest he be burnt by its intensity, the Dark Lord made his way through the ancient structure as if he had walked its very halls countless times before. Some areas of the now abandoned base were more alive with the Force than others, a clear sign that the bearer of the trace had spent greater amounts of time in them. One of those was located toward a corner of the vast ground level. Oil smears and thermal residue on the aging floor testified to its use as a hangar up until recently. Vader was hardly surprised; any pilot capable of delivering the one precise shot that had brought destruction to the Death Star must have spent countless hours honing and perfecting his skills.

Once he had reached the spot, Vader halted and opened himself completely to the Force.

Yes, this was it. The same trace, unmistakably.

The trace of the same signature he had felt from that young Rebel pilot.

Drawing upon the Dark Side, the ever present predator lodged deeply in his soul, he reached out toward the shreds of light imbedded into the stains, the floor, the very air and commanded to be given information. He allowed the sinister tendrils of the Dark Side to lash out, use whatever means necessary to reach his aim. Almost instantly, images flashed before his mind, like broken and bleached recordings from another time, disconnected and jumbled. Uncontrolled, untrained. Vader grasped them forcibly, held them in place, ordered them forward, back.

_A battered X-Wing, scorched by enemy fire, its markings almost eradicated._

_A hand running along its slanted nose gently, lovingly, along with the feeling of a wish, long harbored and finally fulfilled. A feeling that almost reminded him of a time decades ago, of a different life, of a young boy far too foolish and restless. A feeling that belonged to a different man now._

_There was camaraderie, joy, and elation shared with a faceless crowd._

_And parting. A holo recorded ever so hurriedly, its words promising answers to all his questions._

_Words almost within his reach._

_Almost…_

As suddenly as they had presented themselves to him, the images vanished, slipped out of his grasp until all he perceived was that cursed childlike laughter in the back of his mind, ringing clearly in his ears, gleefully. It was again taunting him, _playing_ with him.

The Dark Lord drew back instantly, his anger flaring up at once, the rage being fueled by his frustration at just how effortlessly the trace had escaped his grip yet again.

A Sith Lord was _not_ to be toyed with. It was not acceptable. Vader would have his answers. He would not be outdone by this _child._

Opening himself once more to the vestiges of the signature, he allowed the Force to guide him yet again, allowing the Dark Side to draw on his frustration to heighten his senses, on his rage to increase _his_ control. It ate greedily, readily granting him what he craved.

And he saw it. The unbridled center of the luster.

Not intending to waste even another second, Vader briskly set into motion, his strides even longer than before, his step imbued with such pounding strength that officers hurriedly rushed out his way, fearfully busying themselves with other tasks. Yet he took no notice. With only his goal in mind, he stalked through corridors, ascended stairways and turned around corners his sight had never before fallen on, yet not once did he have to halt and consider his next step. The Force was guiding him without fail.

As he drew closer to his destination, the intensity of the trace rose to unimaginable levels. Every corridor, even the darkest corner and deepest recess was bathed in a radiance he had never experienced before. Strengthening his mental shield, he proceeded, unyielding, unwilling to give in and be blinded.

He would not relent.

Physically, the core of the trace was hardly remarkable. A small, private chamber, now empty and abandoned. Thick, bleak walls muffled any outside noise and left the inhabitant blind and deaf at the same time.

In the Force, however, it could hardly have been more animate. Shimmering lights danced off the walls, facetted as if projected through a kaleidoscope. It seemed almost alive, as if every cell and fibre had been given animation.

Bracing himself for the impact, Vader gradually lowered his shields to allow to remain in control.

But he could not have been prepared for the sheer might with which the light assaulted him.

_DeliriousJoyUnexpectedReunionUncontainableExcitementImpatienceFriendshipLoveLonging-_

And suddenly, images and sounds-

_Transparisteel darkening at the destruction of the Death Star, elated cries of victory hammering through the static of the comm channel - A hangar, an enormous crowd cheering, waiting with open arms and words of praise--_

Then, however, the light seemed to dim almost imperceptible, gradually but certainly tinted by darkness.

_The corridors of a collapsed subterranean structure, walls and ceilings caved in, a figure crushed by rubble, another looking up with accusing eyes, the pulsating crimson sheen of a lightsaber reflected on her skin, bouncing off the walls_ , _the agonizingly familiar stench of burning flesh in the air, along with a single word-_

_'Luke'_

With a violent rasp for air, Vader pulled away and at once rebuilt his mental shields. His respirator strained under the suddenly increased demand for oxygen as the Dark Lord balled his gloved hands into fists in an attempt to regain control. He had allowed himself to be pulled in too far, had almost lost control.

However, much more disquieting was the hint of a truth that was gradually assembling in the back of his mind.

_That wretched globe, nothing but heat and sand._

_The unmistakable recognition of that cursed old man's signature._

_The strange, almost overwhelming familiarity in that of the boy._

_That name, 'Luke', whispered incessantly in his mind, and something more to it-_

_A suggestion so outlandish Vader did not dare open his mind to._

Yet he had passed the point of no return. What had been seen could no longer be unseen.

The Force had decided his course. And for now, Vader would follow.


	5. Familiar Sands

As the _Kierra_ finally dropped out of hyperspace and closed in on Tatooine, Luke could not avert his gaze from the planet in front of him. The giant red sphere stuck out of space like the tip of a glowing hot iron, its orange and crimson hues an impossibly stark contrast to the velvety fabric of distant systems casting their light into the nothingness.

          Not that long ago Luke had been able to witness the same scenery, that time, however, he had been in far too much hurry and excitement to even properly acknowledge it. After 19 years of being stuck on that boring, out-of-the-way heap of sand and dirt he had wanted nothing more than to just run off to the stars, escape the dreariness for a life full of adventure. And, boy, he had received just what he had wished for - utterly unaware of the price he would have to pay.

          Even now his chest constricted as his eyes saw beyond the atmosphere to the planet's surface and the events it had been setting to. The smell of burning flesh still hung in his nostrils, seared into his memory, leaving in its wake a sickening sensation. A heavy lump swelled in his throat as the images came to join the sensory memory.

_His home, swallowed by billowing smoke, flames lashing at whatever piece of his childhood and youth had survived the Imperial onslaught. Then the two bodies, no longer anything more than mere perversions of human beings… the only family he had ever known._

          "Kid!" a voice suddenly rang in his ears. "Hey Kid!"

          Luke instantly snapped out of his daze, dispelling the horrid visions of his past and turned to the origin of the noise.

          Ross had a hand on his shoulder and regarded him with raised eyebrows.

          "You okay?"

          Luke shook his head briefly and managed what he believed should look like a self-conscious grin.

          "Yeah, I'm fine."

          If Ross was not convinced, he did not show it but rather turned back to the instrumentation, his eyes jumping back and forth between the viewport and the navigation console.

          "Better strap yourself in, we're about to enter the atmosphere."

          Throwing a quick look over his shoulder to notice that R2 was already safely secured behind the pilot's chair, he followed the older man's advice.

          Accompanied by the usual momentary rumbling and bumping, the _Kierra_ approached the arid rock. The airspace appeared to be completely deserted, but since they were approaching from the Southern regions, a section of Tatooine largely considered to be even less hospitable than the rest - which did attest to something in its own right -, neither Luke nor the smuggler had expected much else. Had they approached further to the north-east, they would doubtlessly have been long intercepted by Imperial forces blockading Mos Eisley and the surrounding areas.

          "So deserted even the Empire isn't interested in this sandpit, huh?" Ross snorted from the pilot's seat, warily eyeing his surroundings.

          "So what is it you're really hoping to find here, boy?"

          Luke emitted a short sound that resembled something between a sigh and a laugh - even he wasn't sure of which it was - and shrugged his shoulders.

          "I guess I'll know when I find it", he answered casually, a sheepish smile dancing across his features.

          Ross answered with a hearty laugh.

          "Well, whatever else you may be lacking, you certainly do have guts."

The rest of the flight was rather uneventful; the smuggler certainly knew his piloting and gently set them down near the edge of Wayfar. Luckily for them, the surroundings seemed about as abandoned and desolate as the airspace had been. While Luke quickly unstrapped himself and proceeded to helping his small astromech with the same task, Ross lowered the boarding ramp and scowled at the hot air instantly battering his face.

“About as lovely as I remember…” he added, his voice drooping with sarcasm.

“So… you sure you’ll be okay out here?” he asked, a trace of worry wavering in his voice, as the blonde and his droid joined him at the opening. Somehow, that kid must have struck a chord in him - it seemed almost impossible not to feel something akin to protectiveness for this boy, reckless but innocent to the universe as he was.

“I grew up on this dump. There isn’t much here that could still surprise me”, he replied, though Ross was not quite sure if the boy felt as confident as he had tried to sound.

“Oh, by the way, I have a small favor to ask…” he continued and started rummaging through the pockets of his pants. After a few moments, he pulled out a small, battered datachip and extended it towards the smuggler. “I need you to relay this message to a… friend of mine; the number’s attached. There aren’t many long-range communication facilities around here, so it might be a while before I can send it off myself--”

“Now what am I? Some sort of delivery boy?” Ross interrupted him with a serious voice, but quickly broke into a smirk and snatched the chip from Luke’s fingers. “Naw, it’s okay. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your ‘friend’ gets your message.”

“Thanks”, The boy answered with an honest smile and started down the ramp, the small R2 unit always right at his heels.

Ross was about to turn around and get back into his ship, as he changed his mind and quickly turned back to the receding pair.

“Hey kid!” he shouted, causing the boy to spin his head in his direction, “Take care of yourself out there!”

He could almost see the smirk on the blonde’s face as he raised his arm and waved a short goodbye.

“Yeah, you too!”

 

The silhouette of the Dark Lord of the Sith appeared almost like a sinister cut-out against the warm glow emitted from the rusty planet that hung in space before them. As so often when her commander graced the bridge of the _Executor_ with his presence, an almost deafening silence reigned the air, screaming with tension and fear. Nobody in their right mind dared to approach Lord Vader when he once more stood at the viewports, staring out into space as if his gaze alone could command the galaxy to do his bidding. And if one asked anybody serving under him and listened to their stories - strange and peculiar tales - such a fate seemed to become instantly possible.

To the Dark Lord himself, however, such a suggestion brought immense vexation. Even before he had left behind the wretched, weak existence that had been Anakin Skywalker, he had sworn himself to the pursuit of limitless power. While many would attest to his reaching his goal, Darth Vader was well aware just how many limitations were still imposed upon him. And that deplorable burning orb haughtily smirking at him served as a painful reminder of just how little he had actually achieved.

It was now more than three decades ago that the boy he had once been had departed from this cursed heap of sand, departed with the thrill of the promise of a better life, in his childlike innocence seeing nothing but the suggestion of excitement. That boy had wanted a greater life than that of a slave, had dreamed of making a difference. And to that, as Darth Vader, he could most certainly lay a claim. To that child, however, much had been lost. Kenobi had seen to that.

As the planet of Tatooine grew closer, Vader’s mind easily penetrated the dusty veil of its atmosphere, sweeping the detested dunes that had witnessed events he had tried to erase from his memory. Yet the more he tried, the stronger the repercussions pounded in on his mind.

_The vile, guttural roar of a Tusken, the foul stench penetrating layers of weathered and torn rags, and right in the middle, a frail woman, bruised and beaten half to death, holding on to life only long enough to break his heart with a single touch and shatter his soul with truths half-spoken. A mother torn from her son. A son barred from his only family. Barred from any contact. For life._

_‘Remember, my Padawan, a Jedi holds no personal attachment. There is no emotion, only peace.’_

Even though the words were from another existence he had long abandoned, they rang in his ears, clearly, loudly, causing his blood to boil, his scarred skin to tighten and burn under the protective mask and armor. Even as the rage was coursing through his veins, steadily rising, he could feel the dark side spurring him on, urging the hatred to grow stronger, chuckling with delight as the Dark Lord fought for control. He would not be overwhelmed this time.

Mentally strengthening his shields to banish the unwanted thoughts from his inner eye, Vader clenched his fists and allowed the respirator to catch up with the increased demand of oxygen. This time, he would exert control.

Damaging the outer hull of a space cruiser was an experience he had no desire to repeat.

Other concerns demanded his attention now. Far more pressing matters, and more _enticing_ all the same.

A satisfied grin strained Vader’s scarred flesh as he redirected his attention to Tatooine. The boy’s force signature was blatantly obvious; even if he had closed his mind to the force he would not have been able to ignore it, so utterly powerful did it appear to be. There was no alteration, no weathering, just the undiminished, unshielded radiance of a force signature stronger than any he had ever felt.

There was no doubt, Vader contemplated, satisfaction and anticipation battling for supremacy as he regarded the globe before him.

_The boy is here._

 

“I know, R2, I can see it”, the boy commented his comrade’s excited whistling and beeping - even if he had no chance of actually understanding what the astromech was saying, guessing was not too difficult.

Just before them, near the foot of the dune they had just scaled with quite an amount of physical exertion, lay the sand-washed twin-dome shaped structure that had been Ben Kenobi’s residence not too long ago. Determined, Luke pushed away the pangs of grief and loss that manifested themselves at the thought of his former mentor and quickened his step, all but tumbling down the sandy hill.

“Come on, R2! You don’t want me to leave you here, do you?” he exclaimed lighthearted, his chest pounding in anticipation.

The small droid shot back a series of sounds, ranging from fear, to disbelief, to - yes, Luke truly considered it possible - sarcasm but quickly set itself into motion to follow his master.

Within seconds of his frantic run, Luke stood in front of the small, white structure. Panting heavily, sweat trailing down his face and catching in the light fabric of his poncho, the boy raised his head to take in the whole view before him, squinting and shielding his eyes from the unforgiving sunlight. From the outside, the hut appeared to be in perfect condition, strangely enough, since it usually took the Tusken no more than a few hours to completely gut and destroy any abandoned building. Apparently, the old man’s reputation had outlived him and made sure that the sand people rather ran in fright than to touch anything that had belonged to the ‘crazy wizard’. If the superstition was good enough for the human population of Tatooine, it was certainly more than powerful for the distrustful Tusken, Luke thought with a smirk.

Noticing that R2 had finally caught up with him, Luke decided not to stall any longer and took a step forward. He heaved a relieved sigh as a he crossed the threshold to Kenobi’s former abode.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the changed conditions, he carefully walked forward, relishing the relative coolness of the dim dwelling. Just as it had from the outside, the interior did not appear to have changed the slightest bit. For a moment, Luke even had the vague but familiar feeling that the old man would soon emerge from the kitchen, stride over to the small table to his left and unhurriedly light a pipe, all the while wearing that sage, gentle smile of his.

Yet Luke quickly shook the vision from his mind. The pain was still too strong, too fresh.

Standing still for a few moments, he gazed around the dim interior, quietly wondering what it actually was he had come for. As if guided by an invisible hand, he felt his legs set into motion, traversing the small living area to walk up the stairs to the kitchen. His gaze flicked instinctively to the floor.

A trapdoor, carefully carved into the tiled floor, barely distinguishable from the surroundings tiles with the naked eye. He certainly hadn’t noticed it the last time he had visited Kenobi. Then again, he had been here for a few hours only, and a great many other things had been on his mind.

Running his fingers along the small indenture, Luke gripped the cleverly disguised handle and pulled the trapdoor open. A strangely humid, almost moldy smell immediately assaulted his senses but he did not comment it with much more than a scowl before he climbed down the narrow ladder.

The cellar seemed to mainly contain an old but apparently still functional power generator as well as a series of canisters and containers likely built to hold water. Yet what really caught his attention was a small, intricately carved wooden trunk partially hidden under a workbench.

Curiously, he bent down, opened the lid and peered inside.

An old, leather-bound volume was resting carefully in the center of the otherwise empty trunk. Somehow, it did not seem at all strange for an object as archaic as this to have been in the possession of Kenobi.

He cautiously locked his fingers around the weathered volume and pulled it out of its container, resting it gently on his lap. Upon closer inspection, a thumbprint clasp proved to be sealing the book - almost certainly a much more recent addition, quite likely done by Kenobi himself. Following a curious impulse, Luke set his right thumb to the sensor, not surprised when he heard a positive snap and the clasp eventually fell limp against the back of the volume.

Intrigued, the boy thumbed through the thick volume, turning page after yellowed page of diagrams and cursive handwriting. A frown dimmed his features as he realized that much of what his eyes took in was utterly beyond his comprehension. Sure, he understood the technical diagrams - and some of them seemed to portray lightsabers much like his own, he realized with a jolt of excitement - but the somewhat philosophical - at least that was he thought they were - concepts and treatises were completely alien to him.

Oh well, if Ben had led him here, had wanted him to find this, then it would certainly be of use - and he would, sooner or later, understand its hidden meanings.

Carefully, he tucked the heavy volume in his bag, shouldered it and ascended the latter.

The small astromech, dutifully waiting for his master by the opening, let out a series of relieved whistles.

Luke laughed in response.

“Don’t worry, R2, I’m fine. And I think I found what we came for.”

More beeps and whistles, by their intonation clearly questions this time.

_Great, can we leave this place then?_ Or something along those lines, Luke assumed.

_Not quite, Luke, another important task still awaits you._

Luke shook his head. He could have sworn he had heard the old man’s voice in the back of his mind. Either he was finally losing it, or Ben really did have something important for him to do.

“No, not yet, R2. There’s still something I have to do… I think.”

Since he was already on Tatooine, giving in to that little voice in his head couldn’t hurt, or could it?

 

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, detested sand. It was coarse, rough, irritating, and somehow managed to find its way into every nook and cranny, be it ever so small. Although his life-support suit and helmet made sure that he was in no way exposed to the elements, the recollection burned and scraped at his skin, the ruthless light of the twin suns smoldering flesh that had not seen daylight in decades. The heat was rising in his damaged lungs, straining them even further, robbing him of what little oxygen the respirator managed to supply. Everything about this planet agitated him, assaulted his senses in ways he so utterly detested that he had long ago sworn to never return to this wretched ball of heat and dirt. Yet even if he had broken this silent oath, he felt little regret. Sacrifices had to be made for every gain - a truth painfully obvious in Vader’s very existence - and what had led him to Tatooine promised reward justifying any means.

The boy was here, on this very planet.

In the back of his mind, the Dark Lord was aware of the implications as he treaded paths still strangely familiar, even if the once great distances had shortened surprisingly.

Since setting down on the surface, Vader had felt almost overwhelmed by the presence of the boy. He had found himself nearly staggering as he had descended the shuttle ramp - even though certainly not permitting himself the display of weakness - and required all his composure and mental strength to not let the bright signature burn down his shields. Much like Tatooine’s twin suns, the boy’s presence was relentless, blinding. Yet like a moth was inadvertently drawn to the flame, Vader was unable to escape its irresistible pull. As if under a spell, he advanced across the rough terrain, never once needing to halt.

Whatever were to happen now lay in the hands of the force.

And before he even realized it, a familiar scenery unfolded itself before him. Standing out against the clear blue sky were the crumbling remains of various dome-shaped structures - the visible part of a homestead, much more still hidden in the relative coolness below the surface. Despite its state of general disrepair, Vader instantly recognized the building. It had been decades since he had last come here, during a different life, with a much different purpose. Far too impulsive that boy had been, far too impudent to achieve the greatness he had ached to obtain. The boy’s incompetence had earned him nothing but hatred and loss. He had been forced to bury that which he had come to save.

With unhurried steps, Vader advanced to a small patch near the homestead where two weathered slabs of stone broke through the surface, seeming to completely out of place yet at the same time so fitting that they seemed to have become part of their surroundings.

Tombstones. Erected long ago, one born by his own hands, the single reminder of a cursed existence he was unable to shed.

Kneeling down before them, a sense of confusion rattled his mind. These markers appeared to be recent, decades younger than the ones the boy had made a solemn pledge to.

Curiously, he ran a large, gloved hand across the rough surface to wipe away the sand that had enveloped it in a coat of dust.

_Owen Lars_ was all it read. Nothing else.

Vader almost chocked at the two words and proceeded to free the second slab from its grime.

_Beru Lars_.

Of course.

Lars must have removed the previous headstones in an attempt to banish any reminder of that boy’s existence, in a desperate desire to forget the darkness that had come to haunt his family on the day the second headstone had been erected.

Vader’s mind reeled at the thought, blood one more pumping loudly in his ears as a boiling rage ushered it through his veins.

That insolent man had dared to touch something that was not his to touch, should never have been his to hold or even to look at. Had the force not already robbed him of that pleasure, he himself would have taught that imbecile a lesson. Yet…

Suddenly Vader’s head jerked up violently.

It was moving.

The signature that had, up until now, been almost stagnant, had begun to move. And it was advancing in his very direction.

His determination renewed, he stood and directed his gaze at the horizon, cautiously sending out dark tendrils to probe the boy. Vader felt it hard to restrain himself lest he alert the child to his presence and drive him away. He was _so_ close.

That brilliant light danced lightly, just below his vision, approaching without any sense of fear or dread. It advanced on the darkness, gently pushed it back to keep it from being eradicated by its shine, almost as if trying to signal an unconscious desire to cooperate if only to satisfy its own curiosity.

The Dark Lord lingered in this state for a moment, allowed the light to play its childish game.

All his senses declared that this was the will of the force.

It was to be.

_So be it,_ Vader conceded as he stepped deeper into the shadows of the crumbling home and wrapped  his presence in a coat of nothingness.

_Let him come to me._

 

Luke’s heart seemed to want to jump out of his chest as he approached the Lars’s homestead. As his gaze slid across the battered remains of what had been the only home he had ever known, his memories threatened once more to overwhelm him. In his mind’s eye, he still saw the smoke, still heard the flames crackling, still smelled the horrid stench of burning flesh.

A hot gust picked up as he stood in agony, pushed his blond bangs in front of his eyes as if to give him a chance to hide. But Luke knew very well that - no matter how much he wished for it - there was no way of hiding from his past, from who he was and what his blunders had cost others.

Biting back the bile rising in his throat, he wearily trudged closer to the ruins, stepping up to where he had buried the charred remains of his aunt and uncle mere days ago. R2 stayed behind at a short distance, careful not to disturb the personal moment, as Luke knelt down in front of the two markers and wistfully ran a hand over each of them. The surface felt strangely clean and smooth, but the boy had no mind for such matters now.

“Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, I…,” he began and lowered his gaze to his feet. The last time he had stood at their graves, still freshly dug  and equally painful, he had had no words for them. Only anger and hatred. Those were not the feelings to bear when bidding farewell to a loved one. He gave a small sigh.

“I know I wasn’t always what you expected me to be. I always seemed to get into more trouble than I did good,” he paused for a moment, fighting against the lump in his throat, “I’m really sorry for that. I’m sorry for doing all of this to you. If it hadn’t been for me, you would’ve never bought the droids, the Imperials would never have come, you’d never…”

Despite all his best efforts, the lump grew and everything he had wanted to say, had needed to say so desperately came out as a mere sob. Now that he finally had the chance, his own weakness betrayed him.

“Do not concern yourself with the past. The ways of the force are mysterious, young one,”

Luke’s head jerked up violently. Before he even saw the thing that had voiced these words, he could feel its sinister presence enveloping his mind. Within seconds, he was on his feet, his senses screaming at him in warning, as he watched a monstrous dark figure emerge from the shadows of a nearby entranceway.

“Vader!” he breathed, more to himself than anything else.

“Quite so,” the mechanical voice rumbled, almost amused, as the dark monstrosity moved toward him.

Every single pore and fibre in Luke’s body urged him to back away, to try and make a run for it - that thing could hardly move faster than him, and he definitely had the advantage of knowing the territory - but something in his mind welded Luke to the very spot. This _man_ was a killer, a ruthless murderer who had first taken the lives of his family and then even robbed him of Ben. He had destroyed everything.

Rage suddenly flamed up inside of him, hatred of an intensity he had never known before. It embraced him, invaded his mind until there was nothing else. He felt empowered, more than able to hold his ground.

“I won’t run from you!” he yelled defiantly.

Vader stopped a short distance from the boy and tilted his head slightly, as if to appraise him.

“Your strength is admirable. Your hatred gives you control.”

But Luke would not listen to this creature’s twisted praise. This monster had slaughtered his father and now it was his time.

“I have a power you will never know! My father was a great Jedi!” he retorted.

“A Jedi.” The artificial voice thundered once more, a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, a Jedi!” Luke lashed back at him with all his anger and hatred. As he spat the words, his right hand flew to the lightsaber dangling from his belt and in one swift motion, he ignited the blade with the promise of a battle. “I am Luke Skywalker, son of Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi that YOU murdered!”

Vader made no attempt to move as he regarded the boy in front of him, the handle of the saber in his hand, the bluish hue reflected in his eyes.

“Is that so…”


	6. Truths

“I am Luke Skywalker, son of Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi that YOU murdered!” the boy yelled angrily and, in one swift motion, ignited the lightsaber that had been dangling from his belt. A saber anything but unfamiliar to him. The blade’s bluish light threw a cool reflection onto the blonde’s sweaty skin, as if chiseling out his very features for the Sith Lord to see. Features bearing a resemblance of which he was clearly aware but did not dare acknowledge lest they should awaken memories long banished for the sake of his sanity. 

“Is that so…” he commented calmly as he stood and simply watched the boy. The young one was panting, his face obviously contorted with anger and hatred. His presence in the force had become tainted; it was no longer the pure, blinding luminance that threatened to eradicate the darkness but rather had taken on a dark edge itself. He had let himself become overwhelmed by his emotions, had invited the darkness and now embraced the power it awarded him. His light may have dimmed, but its potential shone greater than ever before.

Potential that required - no, demanded cultivation, Vader thought with a strange taste of satisfaction.

“Don’t make fun of me!” the boy screamed, pulling the Dark Lord from his thoughts. “You killed my father, and you killed Ben!” he spat venomously. Tendrils of darkness lashed out at Vader’s shields while the boy stood, his saber raised in anticipation of a battle. His control over the dark side was remarkable, especially for one untrained and largely unaware of the purport of the force. He had seen trained force users dance like puppets to the overtures of the dark side, unable, unwilling even, to impress upon it their own directions, to fathom their own symphonies. Yet this boy… To be able to bend the darkness to his will instead of being entirely swallowed by it, to manipulate it with such ease…

_Impressive._

Had Vader not been completely certain that such feelings were not of a Sith Lord, he would have had to admit to a peculiar sense of pride in the boy.

The hatred was strong in him; he had clearly been conditioned by Kenobi, had been fed lies and half-truths, tainted by the old man’s foolish beliefs in the Jedi Order. To hide the boy from him… to send him to this wretched ball of sand, have those people raise him completely ignorant of the immense potential that had lain dormant just below the surface, a potential of which Kenobi had to have been aware. There was no greater punishment, no greater harm to be done to one of such promise than to bar him from developing it. Clearly the old man had been willing to go to any lengths to keep the boy from falling into his hands.

Vader curled his fists in anger, clenched his jaw to bite back the ire, mobilized every ounce of control he had so patiently gained over the last decades to grip the chains and restrain that ever hungry beast lurking in the corners of his mind, always prepared to gain the upper hand and devour him should his concentration waver for even one instant.

He could not afford to falter, could not afford to give in. Not in a moment when triumph was so near.

“It seems you have fallen prey to many misconceptions,” the mechanical baritone rumbled firmly, “There is much you need to learn, young one.”

The boy scowled and shook his head violently.

“There is nothing I could ever learn from someone like you! You’re a murderer”, he screeched, “A sick and twisted machine that never knew how it is to lose family!”

Once more, the predator buckled against its chains.

Control.

He needed control.

“Quite to the contrary.”

“Shut up!” the boy spat and took a step toward the Dark Lord. There was no fear in him. Nothing but pure, hot rage flaring up around him like a nova, unstoppable and unconcerned with the weaker emotions. “Shut up and fight! Just like you fought my father! But this time, I won’t let you win!”

Yet Vader made no move to draw his own lightsaber. The handle remained untouched as he stood and appraised the boy.

“Move already!”

“Now is not the time to fight,” he commented simply.

However, the Dark Lord’s calm and collected words did not serve any other purpose but to incite his smaller opponent even further. With much more strength than would have been necessary, he jerked his arms up and brought his saber high above his head. Unmistakably an offensive position.

“That’s not something for you to decide!”

With one last war cry, he collected all his hatred and anger and charged at the Sith Lord.

Yet even now, the dark figure remained unmoving. However much he yearned to test himself in hand to hand combat, to hear the electrifying sizzle of two blades clashing in confrontation… this situation was better solved in a different manner. Despite his natural balance and apparent strong grip, the boy had seemingly not received much instruction on the use of a lightsaber. A blunder he would make sure to rectify. Now, however, he could not risk harming him.

As the young blonde came ever closer, his blade ready to release a deadly blow, Vader simply closed his eyes and reached out to his mind. No longer concerned with being noticed, he easily penetrated the rudimentary shields and sent out one single, well-aimed thrust of the force.

Immediately, the boy’s mind went blank and his body limp, as if all of his muscles had suddenly received the order to shut down. The bluish blade retracted into the handle as it made its way into the Dark Lord’s gloved hand. A familiar feeling, yet he did not have sufficient time to contemplate it. Fastening the weapon next to his own, he regarded the unconscious boy before him.

“There is indeed much you need to learn, young one.”

 

Leia had a bad feeling. An exceptionally bad feeling, in fact.

She knew that it had been anything but Luke’s intention upon sending her the holo message, but she simply could not help it. No matter how often she played the recording, there was this peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. The kind of feeling which had often proven useful in the political arena, this intuition which enabled her to see through the usual lies and deceit. And when it came to politics, there was usually something which could be done to dispel the notion. Now, however, things seemed to be slightly more complicated.

Once more her fingers sprang to the datapad - almost as if of their own accord - and a tiny blue holo flickered to life.

“Hello, Princess,” the miniature version of Luke began nervously. “I guess the fleet has arrived at … the new base already, huh? Well, I know everybody’s pretty busy right now, and I hope everything is working out as planned… I… um… don’t mean to hold you up or anything… Just wanted to let you know that we’re okay… Everything’s going great, so I suppose we’ll be heading back in a few days. Just… ah… say hi to Han and Chewie for me if you see them and…”

A series of indignant beeps sounded over the audio and Luke turned around and then back with a short laugh.

“R2 says to tell 3PO to stay away from any indigenous wildlife - he’s supposed to know what it means.”

The astromech shot a quick, affirmative beep,

“Anyway… take care and… uh… I guess I’ll see you in a few,”

With those words, the holo disappeared once more, leaving Leia with none of the calm and comfort the message intended to bring across. With a sigh, she sank back in her chair and tiredly rested her chin in her palm. Her gaze remained fixed on her datapad. While Luke’s message was certainly as clumsy and unrehearsed as the previous one he had sent, it gave absolutely no indication - be it ever so slight - that he might be in trouble. But then, why in in the worlds was she so uneasy?

When she had played the message to Solo, the Corellian had seemed anything but troubled. While he did not appear to be comfortable with the situation and would have clearly preferred to have somebody accompany Skywalker on his little adventure, he did everything to appear completely undisturbed by the matter.

‘The kid can look after himself. He’ll be back annoying you before you know it,’ he had shrugged. She had not quite shared his positivity but had neither had much to put forth in her case. As if on a side note, however, Solo had offered to stay with the Alliance until Luke would return.

‘Gotta give that kid a piece of my mind, running off like that,’ he had commented simply.

Clearly, Solo was not as unconcerned as he claimed to be.

A fact that did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves.

Leia sighed and bent forward slightly, fingers once more jumping to the datapad.

“Hello, Princess…”

 

Every fibre in Luke’s body ached. His muscles felt entirely exhausted, as if he had tried to keep up with his skyhopper on foot. Tentatively, he lifted his head an inch or two but soon sank back with a deep groan as his neck screamed in protest.

_All right, no moving then._

Wrinkling his forehead, he tried to remember what had brought him into this situation; yet unfortunately, his mind was in no better shape than his body and all he could find was a peculiar haze that seemed to cover everything. Subconsciously, however, he was assaulted by a certain sense of urgency. His mind was telling him to get up, to pull himself together and get himself out of the situation he was in.

And it was telling him to do so very quickly.

Luke groaned once more as he rolled over onto his side - why was he lying down in the first place? - and against his whole body’s screeching objection brought his arms up under his chest and hoisted himself into a sitting position.

_Bad idea,_ Luke commented with a moan and hid is head in his hands.

What in the stars had he been doing to deserve feeling like this?

Wearily, he removed his hands from his face and carefully opened his eyes. The surroundings were blinding, like the sunlight reflected off Tatooine’s glistening dunes, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the new conditions. Slowly, his blurry surroundings were taking shape, the contours turned into walls, objects, floor and ceiling. Yet the expected recognition did not set in.

Slightly puzzled, if not yet alarmed, he let a studying gaze wander across the room he had awoken in. Apart from the simple black bed he was resting on, the chamber appeared to be completely empty. The floor was a highly polished, dark grey durasteel that reflected his own confused expression but otherwise gave him no clues as to where he might be. The walls, equally colorless and without prominent features proved to be of similar informational value.

Only as he turned his still aching neck did he discover something that sent a strange notion of anxiety through his body.

He was in space!

From beyond a large viewport at the head of the bed, countless stars blinked back at him, arranged in patterns he had never seen before.

Even worse: he had no idea just where in space he was. And how he had gotten there in the first place.

Getting up onto wobbly legs, Luke stalked around the spacious yet sparsely furnished room. His first instinct was to try to door panel, but it was - needless to say - locked and all his fingering with the keypad earned him nothing but an angry red light flashing at him a couple of times, as if telling him to give up his futile attempts already. Slightly annoyed, he went back to the bed, noticing that his personal belongings were nowhere in sight - his lightsaber, his bag, even R2. Gone.

Again Luke searched his mind, trying to clear the haze that dulled his memories, working fervently, nervously even. He somehow had the feeling that he might not like what he would find. But then again, what choice did he have?

_Now… what was the last thing he could remember?_

_Tatooine._

_Yes, he had been on Tatooine. He had gone there because Ben had told him to. So he had traveled to the old man’s home… Right, he had found a book. Something about the Jedi. What then?_

Luke frowned in concentration, his head hurting from exertion.

_Home… Yes, he’d gone home after that. He’d visited their old farm. He had knelt at the grave markers of his aunt and uncle, had said goodbye to them…_

His blue eyes watered at the memory, the loss of his family still fresh in his mind. First his father, then even his aunt and uncle. And all because of… because of…

“Vader!” he yelped suddenly and leapt to his feet. Streams of adrenaline gushed through his body and his heart suddenly pounded loudly in his ears.

_Vader had shown up at the homestead, Luke had drawn his lightsaber and…_

If he had drawn his lightsaber against Darth Vader - and he clearly remembered yelling and charging at him - how in the stars could he be alive? True, he knew how to handle a lightsaber well enough to protect himself, but there was absolutely no way that he could have bested a Sith Lord, as much as he would love to be able to. Vader had a reputation for being ruthless - to say the least - so why hadn’t he finished him? It just didn’t make any sense.

There was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, the notion of his subconscious trying to tell him something, but he just couldn’t quite grasp it. Something he ought to know. Something that was only natural know.

With an annoyed sigh, he sat back down on the bed.

Why was he here? What did Vader want from him?

Again, like ever so often in the past days, that hint of a voice rang in his ears.

‘Do not be afraid, Luke. He will not let any harm come to you. He needs you.’

_Right, of course. Vader needs me. I guess I’ve finally lost my mind._

Falling back onto the bed, his gaze traveled up to the grey ceiling.

Where in the worlds was he? And how could he get out?

 

“Status, Captain.”

The small form of Captain Firmus Piett sprang to immediate attention, acknowledging his commander with a perfect salute.

“My Lord, the Emperor has departed for _Kuat_ as scheduled. As by order, course for _Imperial Center_ has been set.”

_Ah, yes, Kuat,_ Vader registered. Over the past months, his master had paid the shipyards several visits in order to observe to construction of the _Eclipse,_ his own flagship, a rather new design of dreadnought, developed entirely according to his specifications. A bulky colossus, as far as Vader was aware. A design not quite to his own liking. He had certainly had knowledge of these travel arrangements, yet the recent events had allowed them to escape from his attention.

All the better. It would give him time to make arrangements regarding the boy.

“What of the situation on Zolan?”

“Ah yes, my Lord.” Piett acknowledged and continued his report. “Destroyers _Crucible_ and _Devastator_ are en route to the Zolan system,” he responded, “Contact with the Zolander government is expected for 0400 hours. Local troops have been able to slow down the Clawdite’s advance. The situation appears to be under control.”

“Very well. Inform me personally when contact has been made.” Vader’s baritone echoed across the Executor’s main bridge, well audible over the general buzz of military communication.

Yet while the Captain returned to his post with yet another salute, Vader made no attempt to move. He stood, as ever so often, at the main viewports and regarded the scenery before him. The last time he had spared a moment like this one had been shortly before their arrival on _Tatooine_. He had then been filled with anticipation, with impatience in the face of the impending confrontation with the boy. Had been unable to find the tranquility in age-old light of stars - ever-present and largely unmoved by civilizations’s quarrels - he so often sought.

And even now his mind dwelled on different matters.

The boy. He had awoken.

Vader could clearly sense it.

His previously dulled and slumbering presence - a strangely warm, rhythmic pulsation he had not managed to shun from his senses ever since coming aboard - now sprang to radiant life. It seemed like blasphemy that no one else on board should perceive its blinding intensity, should feel the profound change in the very fabric of the force.

All for the presence of one boy. Small, scrawny, hardly more than a child with blue eyes and the tanned skin and bleached blond hair of an ordinary farmboy.

A child with the blue eyes, tanned skin and bleached blond hair that were so utterly familiar to him that he almost remembered. That he almost wanted to remember.

Right now, the boy was confused, likely on the brink of panic. He was communicating his emotions and thoughts so clearly, so strongly and openly that it became blatantly obvious to Vader just how much his training had been neglected. Even the basic techniques seemed to elude him.

Tentatively, the Dark Lord reached out to the boy’s mind, careful not to make his presence known. He picked at the light, almost gently, coaxed it into opening itself to him further. And just like the boy’s eyes, the light felt so familiar, so very much like his own, that it needed very little effort to have it accept him in.

For an unthinking moment, he simply relished in the light, took it in, bathed his battered form in its glow, let it wash away the itching and pain of his scarred skin, allowed him momentary relief of his ailments.

Yet the darkness found him. As it always did.

Yes, the boy was clearly confused, but there was no fear in him. No terror. Even though he was aware of Vader’s involvement in his current situation - other grown men, trained and battle hardened soldiers would have cowered in fright, scared for their lives - he did not appear to be particularly disturbed.

He was, without doubt, a Skywalker.

 

Luke sighed.

He felt like he had been in these bleak quarters for hours, and despite an extensive investigation and quite some tinkering with the door locking mechanism, he had made neither progress on an escape nor on finding any information about his current location.

Luke Skywalker was rapidly becoming bored.

He was about to lie back down on the bed when a strange feeling of anticipation overcame him. Ever since his childhood, he had often had feelings like this one, and they were usually precursors of important or unusual events. Usually, they would get him in trouble with his uncle, too. Whatever it was this time, anything would be better than being locked in here and bored out of his wits.

Following his feelings, he got onto his feet and stood facing the door - granted, several feet away.

From the outside, he could hear a strange, rhythmic hammering - a sound with which he somehow felt he should be familiar. Yet the pounding continued, growing ever louder as it approached his room and the anticipation in his stomach rose to unbearable levels. Had he been able to, he would have opened the door himself and simply found out what was about to happen.

Yet when the door finally slid open, Luke hastily retracted his statement and took a step back in disbelief.

Right there in the entranceway towered the enormous form of Darth Vader, his mechanical breathing the only sound to break the thick silence.

“Vader,” Luke whispered, his gaze fixed on the armored man before him. It had been one thing to meet him on Tatooine, in that moment when everything had seemed surreal and blurred by his pain and the twin suns, but to see him now, in the sobering artificial light, almost cornered in surroundings completely alien to him.

“You appear prone to repetition,” the voice thundered as Vader stepped further into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

However uncomfortable the situation might have felt to him, Luke simply refused to be afraid. His farmboy stubbornness and pilot’s pride would not let him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked with a firm voice, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “and where am I?”

Some information would be necessary if he were to ever escape.

“You are onboard the _Executor,_ my personal flagship,” Vader chose to answer. “And these are my private quarters.”

The battle for comprehension was apparent in Luke’s face.

Vader’s flagship? His _private quarters?_

“Why?” he blurted, unable to contain the question.

It simply didn’t make sense.

“I do not currently see the need to properly imprison you,” he answered briefly and crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Yet be advised to refrain from attempts of escape. I have taken various measures to ensure that those would be unsuccessful.”

Even though he made no further comment on what these measures were in particular, Luke had no doubt in his mind that Vader knew what he was doing. The stories and his reputation had reached even into the Outer Rim. Vader’s treatment of his prisoners was infamous. If there was anything he wanted, he would find a way to get it.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know anything,” Luke claimed defiantly, hoping he sounded at least partially as confident as he intended.

If anything, Vader seemed to be amused by the comment. He took another step toward Luke and slightly cocked his head.

“You believe I have brought you here to question you about your Rebel Alliance.” It was a statement and a question at the same time. Yet whatever he had intended it to do, it only served to confuse Luke further.

“Yeah, of course. What else would you want with me?”

He really had no idea.

The Dark Lord regarded him for a moment, again silence.

“You truly comprehend neither your importance nor your position,” he stated, and to Luke it was almost as if the sentence was accompanied by a sigh, “Kenobi has kept much from you.”

Luke felt his anger rise.

_What right did he have to treat him like this? What right did he have to talk about Ben like that? That monster had…_

“Ben was a good man, and you killed him!”

Again, something akin to amusement in the Dark Lord.

“Your anger is erroneously directed, young one,” he corrected, “My old master always understood to bend the truth to his liking.”

“The truth?” Luke spat. Ben had always been like a father to him. “Ben would have never lied to me!”

“You are overly confident in your _mentor_ ,”

Even though it might have seemed impossible, there was a slight edge to Vader’s words now. And something told Luke, against all the anger and confusion, to listen. This was something he needed to know.

“Kenobi never told you about your father.”

“He told me enough,” The words slipped past his lips, barely more than a whisper, as he looked up at the Dark Lord through his blond bangs. “He told me you killed him.”

“No.” Vader retorted promptly, as if he wanted to cut off the lie.

“I never _killed_ Anakin Skywalker. It is the name by which I went. In a different life.”

“What…”, Luke mumbled, a strange sense of realization heralding the truth even before his brain was able to comprehend it. “What are you talking about?”

“ _I_ am your father.” The inhuman voice thundered.

Luke stepped backwards, barely able to keep himself from stumbling and falling to the floor. Pressed against the wall, he felt like a cornered animal, desperate to escape before it heard the order for its execution.

It was a lie. It simply had to be.

Things like this didn’t happen. You didn’t just meet one of the most evil creatures in the galaxy and have it tell you it was your father! He could have laughed if not for the seriousness of the situation.

“This can’t be…” A mere whisper, desperate, unbelieving. Unwilling to believe.

It had to be a lie.

And yet…

It felt nothing but true.

“The force speaks the truth, my son. You must only listen.”

And Luke could hear it. Oh, how he could hear it… It not only spoke the truth, but _screamed_ it, _yelled_ it, screeched it in his ears, a dark chorus of mockery and ridicule. He did not want to listen.

Things like this didn’t happen.

“It can’t be true…” he shook his head and covered his ears in a futile attempt to shun the painful voices. But they kept battering in on him, tormenting him, proclaiming a truth he did not dare to acknowledge.

His father was a pilot, a Jedi! Not this… this monster! It couldn’t be…

“In time you will understand.”

He heard the voice promise distantly as a curious calm overcame his senses, dulled out the voices and eventually allowed him to slip into the arms of welcome oblivion.


	7. Flight

Luke sat with his back slumped against the wall, the bed effectively separating him and the door, even if nothing more than a psychological barrier from what- or whoever might enter. The empty quarters felt oppressive, his own mind morphing it into the most vile of prisons, much worse than anything he could have met with on the detention level. Ever since he had woken up, his mind had been reeling with the news, unable and unwilling to accept what he had been told by that monster… by… his father.

He let out a desperate laugh at the mere thought. All those years - his whole life - he had dreamed of his father, had tried to imagine the man that had been Anakin Skywalker, the pilot. The man in his dreams had shared his blue eyes, but he had been taller, stronger, with a handsome, noble face and kind smile that had made him feel loved unconditionally. Always, his father had come for him, had swept down from the starry sky and taken him away in his ship. He had apologized to the boy for not coming home earlier, but he just hadn’t been able to, had been caught up in important business. But he had never forgotten him.

He had always come for him. Even if only in his dreams.

Yet now even _that_ Anakin Skywalker was gone. Had been murdered by that black monstrosity a second time. Once more, his father had been torn from him.

“This is a nightmare…” Luke muttered to himself, hiding his face in his hands with a sigh.

‘ _Yet you know it to be true,_ ’ Ben’s voice sounded out of nowhere, like it had done so often lately.

Luke was fairly certain that he was losing his mind, but he was beyond caring.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he demanded, his voice sounding of betrayal and hurt.

‘ _The time was not right, Luke. You weren’t ready for the truth. Neither of you.’_

Luke snorted derisively.

“The time wasn’t right? You think _this_ was any better?” he jumped up from the floor exasperatedly. “You think I’m ready now? _You_ sent me to Tatooine, didn’t you? You knew he was going to be there! You let me walk straight into his trap!”

Luke could have sworn he heard a sad sigh ring in his head before the voice picked up again.

_‘There was no trap, Luke. It was the will of the force for you to meet. Your father needs you.’_

Your father…

The boy was momentarily stunned into silence at the words. Their ring was so foreign, so alien - yet at the same time painfully familiar.

His father.

_Your father needs you…_

He let out a short laugh and shook his head.

“Need me? _Need_ me? Use me, that’s about all he’s going to do!” he yelled at thin air. “That man is a monster! He’s a _murderer!_ You of all people should know!”

A chuckle? He really had to be losing his mind.

‘ _Your father is not the man you think him to be,’_ The voice tried, its words deliberately soft and reassuring in an effort to calm the boy. _‘Anakin Skywalker was a good man, but the Emperor turned him, and poisoned him with deceit and betrayal. He tried to destroy all that was left of your father, but he has never been able to. There_ is _still good in him, Luke.’_

The young man went silent, as if in utter defeat. He no longer knew whom to trust, whom to believe. His father… that… that _monster_ … and Ben… Why had he lied to him? Why had he sent him straight into Vader’s arms? Why?

Exhausted, he dropped back onto the floor, his back against the wall, forehead resting on his knees.

“…why didn’t you tell me he was alive?” he whispered. Deep within, he knew the answer, but felt unable to acknowledge it. He wanted to be angry, needed to allow himself this negative feeling even if only for a moment. A strong taste of betrayal worked its way up his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

 _‘You will learn the answers, Luke,’_ the voice came, but its intended consolation was lost on the boy, ‘ _when you are ready, you will understand.’_

After the words had been spoken, Luke knew that no more would follow. The voice was gone. All that was left was his own self, shattered into a million pieces. Hugging his knees like a little child, he bit back the angry tears that threatened to well up in his eyes.

Why? Why did people always think they had to make his choices for him?

He was his own person. He would make them understand _that_ soon enough.

 

The Dark Lord of the Sith drew a tentative breath and let the super-oxygenated air wash down his scarred trachea and into his battered lungs. The sweet aroma was intoxicating, and he allowed himself to dwell on the sensation for a moment. The first breath in his hyperbaric chamber often left him lightheaded, being able to breathe on his own while freed from the pressing weight of his mask and helmet. His eyes opened slowly as the pupils in his milky irises adjusted to the unusual brightness. Despite being rather bleak and hardly of unusual beauty, the inside of his chamber in its blacks, whites and greys was a welcome change from the red tint with which his mask blanketed his surroundings.

Usually, he retreated to his capsule for meditation, to detach himself from the outside. Yet lately, he knew, the calm would not come to him. Ever since he had begun his search for the boy, he had found himself too occupied, too entranced by the possibilities now ahead of him. At the same time, careful arrangements had to be made to avoid falling out of his master’s grace and thus endangering his objective. Ensuring the safety of the boy naturally took precedence. Should he be harmed - or worse, lost - his endeavors would be wasted.

Gloved fingers deliberately danced over the communication controls within the chamber and within seconds, the large viewscreen lit up with the image of the boy. Vader unconsciously inched closer to the screen as his eyes discovered the cowering form against the wall.

As if on instinct, the blond head rose from his hands and blue eyes wandered lazily across the room. The Dark Lord held his breath, taken aback by the unprovoked reaction.

The comm consoles in the young one’s quarters were set to record and transmit only, so it was impossible for the boy to discover that he was being watched. Or so it would be, were he not a sensitive. Granted, Vader had considered him too untrained to perceive his attention on him, yet apparently the child was much more instinctively attuned to the Force than he had expected. Or could have hoped.

A satisfied smile stressed the tight, scarred skin around his lips. Yes, the boy had already surpassed his expectations. While he was certainly confused with the circumstances, there was no fear in him, no weakness, and his presence in the force burned brighter than it ever had. There was so much potential.

Slowly, his gaze wandered over the boy’s petite form, scrawny legs hugged by even spindlier arms, shoulders that seemed too small for any burden to bear, a head of strawy, blond hair, bleached from years of being exposed to that dustball’s twin suns… and those eyes.

Without his mask, he was able, for the first time, to perceive their true color - to not just know what it would be, but to actually _see_.

They were of a striking, almost liquid blue that sent a shudder up his spine and for a moment, allowed him the benefit of oblivion, of ignorance of his own past.

 _His_ eyes. Definitely his eyes.

That look, however… Despite the exhaustion, the confusion, the pain reflected in his face, that was clearly _her_ look. There could be no mistake. He needed no DNA testing, no record of birth, to know that this boy was _his…_ was _theirs._ It was as if the force had grasped the very image he had created in his mind all those years ago and breathed life into it. _She_ had known it would be a boy, and he had always found himself wondering, hoping.

“Luke…,” he whispered involuntarily, his own voice alien to even himself without the rasp of the vocabulator.

_‘How do you know it’s a boy?’ Amused, and slightly curious all the same._

_‘Motherly intuition.’ She smiles. A moment of content silence. ‘Luke. I like Luke,’_

_‘Hm?’_

_‘If it’s a boy, let’s call him Luke.’ The name flows from her lips like sweet music. A promise._

_‘Luke…’_

No.

He tore his eyes from the viewscreen and stared at his own reflection in the polished durasteel. Looking back at him was not the young man from his memory, not the boy overly excited at becoming a father. It was the scarred face born out of lies and betrayal. The fallen one rather than the hero.

Too much time had passed. Too much had happened. He was no longer in the position to burden himself with the past. Anakin Skywalker was no more. Had died with _her_.

His large hand went back to the console, ready to cut the transmission and allow himself to escape into ignorance. Fingers lingered on the keys, hesitant to do the deed.

Skywalker had indeed died. And yet…

 

As he saw the stars outside the cockpit form into long streaks and eventually the wavering blue of the hyperspace tunnel, Han sank back in the pilot’s chair with an exhausted sigh.

“Finally out of that walk-in freezer!” he stated with no little amount of content.

From the copilot’s chair, Chewbacca growled a short approval.

“Yeah, you said it, buddy,” Han replied with a laugh. “I wouldn’t wanna hide on that rock either.”

Hoth was definitely much less agreeable than both Thila and Yavin before it - _in fact, it was so krethin’ cold it could probably freeze Corellian brandy_ \- but he could see why the Rebel Alliance had chosen it as their next base. That _icecube_ was completely devoid of any intelligent life; nothing with a working brain would willingly set down in the sub-zero temperatures. Even the Imperials should be clever enough to refrain from paying it a surprise visit.

The Alliance should be safe on Hoth for a while.

Once they had eventually moved there, of course.

For the past few days, Han and Chewie had been helping with making delivery runs from Thila to Hoth, hauling over equipment, technicians, supplies and whatever else might be needed. With her extra storage space, the _Falcon_ was a valuable addition to the small collection of freighters, even if only a temporary one.

Originally, Han had agreed to helping the Princess in the move from Yavin to Thila only, but after their recent battle, the Alliance was desperately low on both ships and pilots, so that he and Chewie had eventually caved in and agreed to extend their stay. Then again, it hadn’t taken much to persuade them. There was a constant worry nagging at Solo’s mind since Luke had taken off on his own, and even the recent message he had sent the Princess had done nothing to ease his worry.

Usually, when Solo had a bad feeling about something, it was for a good reason.

So he would at least stick around until he could make sure with own eyes that the kid had not gotten himself killed. Even if it was the only thing he could do.

… or was it?

He drummed his fingers on the instrumentation in thought, earning himself an annoyed growl from his hairy companion.

“Let it go, I gotta think here!”he retorted briefly.

_There had to be someone… There had to be… There–_

Han smirked to himself as a he punched a code into the com unit.

_Might not be pretty, but so what._

Apparently, it took a while for the receiver of the transmission to either answer or decide whether he should even grace Solo with the honor, for it was only some minutes later that the small, bluish holo finally appeared on the transceiver.

“Solo… what in the nine hells…,” the voice hissed.

 _Yep, definitely not pretty,_ Han thought with a smirk and shifted slightly to get a better look at the holo.

“Listen, Lando, I know we didn’t exactly part on good terms–“

“ _Not exactly on good terms?”_ the small figure mocked, gesturing wildly, “that’s what you call that disaster on Ylesia? You scammed me, Solo! You cost me a lot of perfectly good credits!”

Han only shrugged in response. True, Ylesia hadn’t been too good for their professional relationship, and they had sworn to stay away from each other for the rest of their lives. But then again, what good were vows when you couldn’t break them?

“I know, I know”, he waved his hands to calm the fellow smuggler, “but I have a small favor to ask–“

“What makes you think I’d even listen?”

“Come on, Lando, it’s just a favor for an old friend. Unless, of course, it might be too big for you,” he tried. Appealing to Lando’s ego usually worked. He’d known the man for a while.

“All right, I’ll humor you.” The small figure sighed in defeat.

Han flashed a grin. As predictable as always.

“Great. I’m doing a bit of work for the Rebels right now, and one of their hotshots just ran off. Scrawny little blond guy from Tatooine, goes by the name of Luke Skywalker. High Command’s sweatin’ in their seats, wanna find out where he is as soon as possible. So if you could keep your eyes and ears open…”

“Got yourself a new sidekick, huh?” Calrissian retorted with a smug grin. “But all right, I’ll see what I can do…”

 

As he stepped through the entrance of the portion of his private quarters currently occupied by the boy, he almost expected the little one to jump up and snarl at him like a cornered womp rat ready to sink its teeth into his flesh. If his previous defiance could be taken as any indication, he foresaw a not inconsiderable amount of trials and tribulations.

The boy was, after all, a Skywalker.

 What met his eyes, however, was the same crouched form he had earlier spied from his meditation chamber, still slumped against the wall, head on its knees. His blue eyes wearily registered the black form, but there was no further acknowledgement of his presence. The force around him reeked of exhaustion, of nights spent awake with only his battered mind to keep him company. Yet he needed not reach out to perceive that the earlier defiance was still there, beneath it all. Clearly the boy had no intention of making things easy.

“I trust you have had ample time to adjust,” Vader heard his own, raspy voice breaking the silence.

There was no reaction.

The boy’s head remained on his knees, blue eyes unfocused. A flicker in his force presence, however, alerted the Dark Lord to an inner change. The grey tint had returned to his bright light - the same dimming, the same tainting he had sensed on Tatooine, even if barely noticeable. It appeared that the boy was trying to exert control.

_Excellent._

“Where’s R2?” a small voice suddenly sounded. “What have you done to him?”

Vader crossed his arms in front of his chest and regarded the scrawny figure before him.

“Rest assured that your astromech has not been harmed. He will be returned to you once you prove more… cooperative.”

Still no reaction. The boy remained in his curled up position, his gaze wandering everywhere but to the Dark Lord.

“Whatever it is you want from me, I’ll never do it,” he muttered tiredly.

The black figure took a step toward the boy, consciously using his own intimidating form to underline his position and make the small one see his point, make him realize that - despite pretenses - he ultimately had no say in this.

“You are strong in the force, my son. You must be trained.”

When nothing else had elicited an emotional response in him, those two, short words certainly did. Instantly, his head snapped up and a pair of blue eyes fixed the Dark Lord in an angry glare.

“Don’t call me that!” he hissed, his voice dangerously low. “You have _no_ right to call me that!”

The boy’s presence suddenly assaulted Vader’s shields, his tainted light pounding in on the invisible walls with a strength that almost sent him staggering. A silent war-cry rang through his helmet as the untrained, _untamed_ , brute force hacked away at his defenses. Had the Dark Lord been less skilled, less strong in the force, an attack such as this would have easily disabled him. But the boy had nothing on him. Yet.

Summoning his sinister satisfaction at the strength of the attack and enriching it with all his impatience, anger, lust and hunger, he fed the dark side in him, enjoying the rush of power it sent through his battered body. With ease he conquered his son’s presence, pushed it back into the raging mind.

“You are indeed strong, young one. Kenobi was foolish to leave you untrained. But I will rectify his blunder.”

Blue eyes remained fixed on him; the venom, the hatred still there, even if currently subdued.

“You _will_ be trained, and together, as father and son, we will finally bring peace and justice to the galaxy.”

Again, the little one’s temper flared at the reference, reproachfully.

“Peace and justice?” the volume of his voice still rising only slightly above that of a hiss, dripping accusation and disgust. “You torture innocent people; you kill them! What do _you_ know about peace and justice?”

Had his vocabulator known how to interpret the sound, the childish allegations would have been met with a snort.

“There is no such thing as innocence in this galaxy, my son” he replied instead, “Sacrifices must be made to achieve an ultimate goal. It is a truth you will come to understand with time.”

Not waiting for a reaction, the Sith Lord spun around, ready to leave the boy with his words to think about. Yet a tiny thought of defiance from the still curled up form made him pause for an instant. An uncontrolled thought, but clearly strong enough to take form and send a shiver of subconscious recognition through his body.

‘ _I’m my own person.’_

 

Luke let out a heavy sigh. His back ached from sitting against the wall for so long, and his legs had long fallen asleep from the lack of movement. To the rest of his body and - above all - his mind, however, the welcome relief of rest would not come. His mind was reeling with information, too shocked and tired to process what was happening around him, _to_ him. It was keeping him awake, hadn’t allowed him to drift off ever since he had come aboard. His sense of time had left him stranded.

He wearily closed his eyes, his forehead still resting on his knees and tried to blank out everything around him. Imagine himself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even one of Uncle Owen’s ‘talks’ sounded tempting right now.

Suddenly, he heard the automatic doors’ locking mechanisms disengage. Instinctively, he braced himself for the darkness he knew would follow. For the cold that always accompanied the presence of… that monster.

Yet none of it came. Instead, a sequence of concerned beeps broke the silence.

His head jerked up violently, and as soon as his gaze settled on the cylindrical form in the entrance, nothing could have kept him in his spot anymore. Despite roaring protest from his tired muscles - and almost falling flat onto his face due to the loss of control in his legs - he dashed toward the astromech and crouched down next to it.

“R2! Boy, am I glad to see you!” he exclaimed happily, all the while studying the small droid at his side, a slight relaxation spreading over his body at the familiar sight.

“How’d you get in here? Did they do anything to you? How’d you manage to get away?” he blurted, unable to contain his relief.

R2 let out a string of beeps, his dome-shaped head swiveling nervously from Luke to the open door and back.

Luke gave a short laugh as he understood the meaning.

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted, “We don’t exactly have time for this now, do we?”

With a few strides, he was out of his _cell_ , suddenly aware that he had never known what to expect beyond his own, confined space. These _were_ Vader’s private quarters, after all. He now found himself in a very sparsely furnished room, apparently serving as some sort of connection to further chambers. Strangely though it seemed equally neglected, even if not quite in the sense of cleaning but rather of real human care. The whole place felt _cold_.

From behind his legs, he suddenly felt R2 nudging him and then roll off ahead, entering another room, beeping for his master to follow.

Luke still felt confused but, knowing that the astromech probably had a much better idea of where they were and how they could get out, he followed his little companion through the doorway. This place looked like an office of sorts. There was a large, round conference table - polished carefully enough that he could see each and every single feature of his tanned face reflected in it - and a number of viewscreens, computer terminals and vast stacks of datapads. Yet only what he found neatly piled on one of the chairs sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body.

His bag! Rummaging through it, he gladly noticed that Kenobi’s book was still there, the seal unbroken. He quickly shouldered it and automatically his eyes went to yet another item sitting on the cushion.

His lightsaber…

His _father’s_ lightsaber…

Hesitantly, his fingers enclosed the smooth handle and weighed it, appraised it, as if holding it for the first time. And he truly _was_ holding it for the first time. Just days ago, this ancient weapon had been one of his most treasured possessions, a keepsake passed down from his father, the only link to the hero in his dreams.

Now, however, the blade stood for so much else.

His fingers shivered around the cool metal, his palm felt sweaty and tingled with the sensation.

It had been _his._

Who knew how many innocent people had died through it?

Suddenly, R2’s incessant, even if somehow understanding, beeping woke him from his contemplation. The droid spun around nervously, obviously dying to leave his current location.

Luke understood.

“All right, R2, we’d better get out here while we still can, huh?”

That was all the droid needed to take off.

With one last sigh, Luke glanced at the lightsaber and heavily clipped it to his belt.

Vader’s head snapped up curiously, instantly forgetting the Zolan report in his hand. Something had changed in the force, had caused it to flare up momentarily, carrying in its wake a wave of excitement, adrenaline and urgency. The childish laughter had returned, echoed yet again in his mind, haunting him.

 _The boy_!

Something was happening with the boy!

Shoving the datapad he was holding into the hands of the stunned officer next to him, he set into motion, long, thundering strides leading him off the bridge without any explanation for the personnel. Yet certainly nobody in their right mind would have dared to stop him.

They knew better.

Alertly, Luke peaked around the corner into the corridor. R2 had done a great job at temporarily disabling the security systems in Vader’s quarters - even though it still baffled the young man how the astromech could at all have been able to do so - and now all the had to do was to find a way off the ship.

 _Well, that can’t be too hard_ , Luke thought with no small amount of sarcasm.

Even though he had no idea how big the _Executor_ actually was, he could still very well remember the ordeal of escaping from the Death Star. And he sincerely hoped that somehow, the force would be kind to him and make it a little easier this time.

First, however, they needed to find out where exactly they were.

Cautiously, Luke scrambled over to the computer terminal set into the opposite wall, soon to be joined by his small companion.

“R2, can you call up the schematics and find the closest hangar?”

An affirmative beep and the scomp link arm was already plugging itself in.

Within seconds, the complete schematics of the _Executor_ flashed across the screen and Luke drew in a breath.

_Holy Sith…_

To say she was massive would be an understatement. Luke had never seen anything of such size, and sheer _power._ That 19km beast packed more artillery, fire- and manpower than the _whole_ Alliance fleet! His pilot’s senses itched. Had he had time to stop and stare, nothing could have moved him from his spot. Unfortunately though, this was not the case.

“All right… hangar… hangar…” Luke muttered as he studied the printouts intensely.

R2 alerted him to a number of symbols in the forward section.

_Oh, good, several landing bays. That would take them only about–_

He suddenly let out a defeated groan.

_They were practically on the other end of the ship!_

__

Yes, the boy was definitely moving. He had clearly left his private quarters and was now on the run.

Vader could sense it. The boy’s presence burned brightly, practically sang with the exhilaration of flight and freedom.

_But how in the stars had this mere child managed to escape?_

No. Not a _mere child_ , the Sith Lord promptly corrected. This child was a Skywalker. He should have expected nothing less from his own offspring, he reprimanded himself for underestimating the boy.

An error of judgement he would not commit a second time.

His gloved hand jumped to the comlink fastened to his belt and pressed the activation switch.

“Admiral,” his voice echoed a command that allowed no hesitance.

“Yes, My Lord,” A quiver of nervousness was apparent in Ozzel’s voice.

“The Rebel prisoner has escaped. He will surely attempt to reach a landing bay. Alert all security divisions and see to it that he is not harmed under any circumstances.”

“Certainly, Lord Vader,”

The boy would not escape from him again. He would not have it.

His gaze jumping left and right to check for any Imperials, Luke hurriedly slipped out of the turbolift, R2 right at his heels. Granted, the lift had been labeled as ‘out of order’, but his little companion certainly had a few tricks up his sleeve for which the boy felt endlessly grateful.

“There it is, R2,” Luke whispered, gesturing to the hangar that lay beyond the transparisteel windows. “We’re almost there. If we can make it past all those meat-cans, that is…” he added with a nervous look at the armored soldiers patrolling between the Imperial TIE fighters. He counted at least a dozen - and there were likely more than he could see from up here.

Still, by no means increased security.

“Maybe they haven’t noticed us missing yet…” he muttered, slightly hopeful, more to himself than to R2.

The droid still graced him with a succession of beeps in reply.

_Yeah, or maybe a trap. I know._

It was just as likely as having remained undetected all this time. But in the end, it didn’t make much of a difference anyway. It was his only chance.

He could stay here and wait for that monster to lock him back up or he could test his luck. And he would rather go down fighting any day than ending back up with _him._

“All right, R2, stay behind me,” he whispered and slowly made his way down an adjacent ramp to the hangar.

Holding his breath, he pressed himself into the wall, his right hand involuntarily creeping to the lightsaber dangling from his belt. So far, it seemed, they hadn’t noticed them. Now, if he could just cross–

“Freeze, Rebel Scum!” a mechanical voice suddenly thundered from behind him on the ramp.

He spun around and momentarily froze in his spot. Black and white helmets stared at him intently, blasters trained on his chest and head.

 _A trap after all_.

But his last name would not by Skywalker if he went down without at least so much as a fight. Clearing his head of the situation, his fingers finally closed around the hilt of his saber and, in one swift motion, drew it from his belt and ignited it. The bluish light pulsated calmly.

He had learned to deflect blaster bolts. So he should at least be able to pull off a believable defense.

“He has a weapon!” one of the troopers shouted, “Set blasters to stun, and remember your orders!”

A sudden rain of blaster fire hammered in on Luke and he instinctively brought up his blade, deflecting the bolts with a speed and precisions of which he had not thought himself capable. But there was no time to think. He had to rely on his intuition now.

Under the steady shower, Luke slowly inched backwards, down the ramp, in search of an open space, hoping to be able to find some gap in his enemy’s formation he could exploit.

All of a sudden, just out of the corner of his eyes, he perceived a stray bolt racing past his defenses. His body was too slow to react. With a dreadful feeling spreading in his chest, he watched as the enemy fire hammered straight into his little companion’s dome and seared its insides. Within split seconds, the light in R2’s eye died, leaving the droid lifeless and his master with a strange sensation of loss.

“R2!” he yelled “Don’t do this to me!”

As his gaze was fixed on the mess of smoking wires and innards protruding from the small silver and blue dome, anger once more swelled in his chest.

 _Would these monsters stop at nothing? Would they take_ everything _from him? What right did they have? What right–_

With a guttural roar worthy of an injured Gorog, he charged forward.

He no longer cared about defense. No longer cared about getting away.

_He would not let them get away with this._

Blindly, he slashed through white armor and flesh and bone beneath it. Frantically fired blaster bolts streaked and seared his legs, his arms, his face, but he ignored them.

And kept slicing.

The smell of charred skin, the sound terrified men pleading for their lives… It _fueled_ him.

Suddenly, something glistened in his peripheral vision.

A flash of purple.

And before he knew it, his world shattered in an explosion of agony and he cried out deafeningly. In disbelief, he saw his right hand fall to the ground limply, his deactivated saber now free, rolling to come to a rest at his feet, and his eyes jumped to his right wrist, now nothing more than a cauterized stump.

He almost doubled over at the sight but pressed his eyes shut, tried to blank out the pain in a hand that was no longer there.

It wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t give up now.

Gritting his teeth and ignoring the myriad of stars that danced before his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears, he bent forward and clumsily picked up his lightsaber with his left hand, igniting it with some effort.

He was panting heavily now, and dropped into a low defensive posture.

“Now we can’t let you have that, can we?”

It was all he heard before something hard collided with his temple. The stars in front of his eyes exploded and, finally, there was only black.

_He had lost again._

__

Vader reeled with the sudden scream in the force, his knees threatening to buckle under him as a world of pain violated his mind. With a groan, he leaned against the wall heavily, eyes tearing up behind the mask with an aching beyond anything he had felt in a lifetime.

There was pain, shock, mourning, loss…

Anger.

 _Hatred_.

All at once. It snarled at him, its fiery breath down his neck, bared its fangs and clawed at the tight skin below his armor. Tore him to shreds, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. It drank the air from his lungs, quenched its remaining thirst on the blood in his veins.

A horrid scream caught in his throat, and the Dark Lord struggled to stay conscious.

He braced himself, clenched his hands into fists, ready to fight back, when–

Gone.

It was gone.

Suddenly, there was absolutely nothing. The fabric of the force grew dull, lifeless, and finally, _finally_ he understood.

_LUKE!_


	8. Healing

The ground-shattering headache he somehow expected never came. As he lifted his heavy eyelids, he was greeted only by a fuzzy veil and a strange sensation of drowsiness that immediately blanketed his senses. He was sure he should be feeling pain all across his body, for some reason - but there was nothing but an unusual feeling of sublime indifference. Luke could care less for where he was, or exactly why he was there. And he decided to be thankful for it and lose himself in the blissful ignorance.

“I see you are finally awake,” a mechanical voice suddenly rumbled, at once piercing through his inner calm.

Luke forced his eyes to focus on the origin of the voice, even though he needed not see to discover who had spoken.

Sluggishly, almost hesitantly, his vision regained focus until he was able to make out the dark figure standing to his left, near the bed.

_Bed?_

Hurriedly ushering the rest of his senses into motion, his gaze left the ominous form and swept across his surroundings. Where he had expected a highly-polished black floor and durasteel walls of a dark grey, shades of white and similarly bright hues met his eyes. His ears perceived a steady chatter of background noise, yet he was still far too dazed to be able to discriminate them.

These were clearly not his regular quarters.

_Much more like some sort of… medical bay._

A faint feeling of alarm spread through his chest as he jerked his head downwards to regard himself. His left arm, sticking out of a white robe of sorts, was covered with several bacta patches, and Luke could only assume what was hidden beneath them. As his eyes wandered to his right, he suddenly stopped. Where his right hand should have been, there was nothing but a thick layer of bandages enclosed by a protective cuff. He blinked drowsily.

He had lost his right hand.

And he knew he should care, should be horrified, possibly even angry. Should yell at somebody about the injustice of it all. Still he regarded the stump with cold detachment.

“The wound has become infected and will require some time to heal,” the harsh voice spoke up once more, “When the process is complete, you will receive ample replacement. You likewise sustained several blaster burns to your arms, legs and face as well as a serious concussion. You are strongly _encouraged_ to refrain from physical activity.”

Luke nodded absentmindedly as the memories slowly drifted back to him, a jumble of distorted and blurred images and deafening sounds. He’d tried to run, to get away from this nightmare… but apparently had failed miserably.

“Are you aware of what has happened?” Vader inquired, and Luke almost thought he heard a hint of curiosity in the low rasp, as if the man himself was not yet entirely sure of the events that had taken place.

Luke gave a small nod, and for some reason felt compelled to answer.

“I was trying to… get away,” he began hoarsely, unable to raise his voice above that of a low murmur, “I’d made it to the hangar, when a bunch of stormtroopers noticed me. They started firing when… when they saw my lightsaber,” the memory of that cursed weapon sent a shudder through him, forcing him to rest briefly to compose himself. “I’m pretty good at defending, so I deflected most of their fire, but then–“

He started as the memory returned and jolted into an upright position. Immediately, his left hand flew to his temple as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. The Dark Lord stepped toward him, his large gloved hand pressing Luke back into the cushions by his shoulder.

“Do not make any rash movements,” he reprimanded, his intonation making it very clear that he did not allow disagreement.

Luke gave a resigned sigh.

“Where’s R2?” he asked weakly, memories of the small droid’s dead eye fresh in his mind, “How bad is he?”

“Your astromech was badly damaged,” Vader rumbled, “It has been stored for further examination. I will have my technical crew inspect it.”

Luke shook his head and fixed the dark mask with an intense, determined stare.

“No, R2’s my friend,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll repair him. I know I can do it.”

“Very well.” Vader paused for a moment, regarding the small boy from behind his immovable mask.

Luke had no idea what the man could be feeling. Sometimes he would get certain sensations off of people, strange feelings that would help him judge others, anticipate their actions - _could those possibly be connected to the Force?_ Yet they had always seemed so natural to him that he had never questioned their validity. He even found it hard to imagine that, should this indeed be the Force communicating with him, others might be blind to those insights. He had always tried to imagine what it might feel like - and now he knew. His mind was so unfocused, so far lost in this misty haze which surrounded him, that for once, he perceived nothing but what was in plain sight. However, just as he had been indifferent when he had regarded the stump of his right arm, he did not particularly mind.

Whatever painkillers or tranquilizers they had injected him with, they certainly did their job.

The Dark Lord folded his arms in front of his chest, likely out of impatience.

“The wound on your right arm was cauterized. Do you have any memory of how it happened?” he pushed.

Luke creased his forehead in concentration, trying to conjure up anything after his companion had been hit. The images that returned were anything but clear.

“I’m not sure,” he answered hesitantly, “It’s all pretty blurry. I think I attacked the stormtroopers, then there was some sort of…purplish… flash, I guess and somebody knocked me out.”

He shrugged briefly.

“The wound looks to be caused by a lightsaber. I assume you can exclude the possibility that it was an accident?” Vader pressed further, clearly anything but satisfied with the lack of information.

Luke raised an eyebrow and sent the Sith a look that would have certainly cost others their lives.

“I’m not that great with a lightsaber yet, but I’m not stupid enough to cut off my own hand,” he retorted with some defiance. Would he not have been under the influence of his medication, Luke was not sure if he had been reckless enough to speak his mind. But in that very moment, he just wouldn’t worry about it.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten myself injured before.”

Yet before he had even finished speaking the words, Vader’s intimidating form stepped even closer and now loomed over him, his right index finger pointing at him in accusation.

“I believe the seriousness of this situation escapes you, my son. Your reckless behavior could have very well cost you your life,” Luke needed no Force abilities to see that Vader’s patience had reached its limit and anger was boiling up in him. “You are far too important to put yourself at such risk.”

The boy tried to open his mouth and meet Sith’s rebuke with a smart, defiant remark of his own, but he never got the chance.

His vision spun as the Dark Lord leaned over him and leather-clad fingers met his temple with astonishing gentleness.

“Rest, my son,” rang to his ears as his mind was softly coaxed into giving in to the healing quiet of sleep. “Many trials still await you. You will need to be strong.”

 

The Dark Lord sank into the cushions of his hyperbaric chamber with a low growl.

_That boy… So insolent, so reckless!_

Anger boiled in his veins and his hands flexed intuitively, as if he were able to dissipate his annoyance with as little as a strong grip. _How could the boy willingly endanger his life in an attempt as futile as escaping him? Did he not realize his importance? Could he not feel his destiny, ordained by the Force?_

The very fabric of the Force flared around Vader, the dark side afire with an unprecedented rage that threatened to escape his control should he ease his grip for even a second.

_Could he not see the fragility of the human body? He had finally found him - and already had come so close to losing him. Too close._

He pressed his eyes shut behind his ebony mask and willed his automated breathing to slow.

_Control. He needed control._

Slowly, deliberately he opened himself further to the Force, grasping the reins of his rampant rage, summoning it once more to do his bidding and directed it through his own body. The stumps of his legs and arms, his battered torso and neck, his scarred face… all tissue was suddenly alive with strength and resonated with the low hum of the dark side.

_Yes. Control._

His gloved hand found the com-console and punched in a code with habitual precision.

Within split seconds, the transmission was answered and the viewscreen came to life. The tension of his bridge crew was palpable even across the distance. Apparently, Ozzel and Piett had been engaged in conversation with two young lieutenants who were now trying their best to seem unfazed - but were, of course, failing miserably.

The two senior officers snapped to immediate attention.

“Mylord?” Ozzel began but Vader quickly cut him off with the wave of a hand.

“Spare me your courtesies, Admiral”, the Dark Lord retorted and fixed the officer with an intense look. Immediately, Ozzel’s hands flew to the collar of his uniform, trying to ward off an unseen attacker. He began to gasp and cough as he was clawing at his own throat, but Vader paid no heed.

“I believe I had ordered for the Rebel prisoner to remain unharmed, Admiral. And yet he is currently being treated for several injuries inflicted to him by _your_ subordinates. Such blunders cannot be tolerated.”

Without any further warning, the older man’s body went limp and sank to the ground with a dull thud.

“I expect your performance to prove more satisfactory, _Admiral_ Piett.” A warning rather than a statement, as every officer onboard the _Executor_ was aware.

Piett momentarily dropped his gaze to where the lifeless body would be slumped on the floor beside him, yet quickly returned to face his superior with unwavering determination.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Without further ado, the Dark Lord cut the transmission and turned from the viewscreen. Ridding himself of this foolish man had not been nearly as satisfying as he had expected, but it had to be done. He had no use for the incompetent, and most certainly not aboard his flagship. Every single one of his officers was well aware of Vader’s requirements and thus it was in their own hands whether they served their commander well or put an early end to their careers. Or lives, for that matter.

Vader returned to the small holo transceiver to his left and hit the activation switch. Again, the scenes of the boy’s attempted flight shimmered through the air; his small, blue form ducking behind corners, scrambling down the ramp toward the main landing bay and eventually being spotted by the stormtroopers. He drew his lightsaber and warded off their blaster fire until his small astromech was suddenly hit, then– nothing. With a crackling of static, the recording ended and resumed playing at its beginning, caught in an infinite loop. No matter how often the Dark Lord watched these scenes and witnessed the abrupt interruption, his frustration remained .

Somebody had clearly tampered with the recordings. A feat quite remarkable, considering the level of security on the _Executor._

Vader joined his fingertips before his mask in contemplation.

_‘It’s all pretty blurry. I think I attacked the stormtroopers, then there was some sort of…purplish… flash, I guess and somebody knocked me out.’_

_A purplish flash._

A disconcerting thought took form in the back of the Dark Lord’s mind.

_Could it be…_

 

Luke watched with mild interest as his right hand sluggishly responded to 2-1B's reflex testing.

His _new_ right hand.

By its looks alone, he would not have been able to tell it apart from a _real_ hand of flesh and blood rather than the synthskin covering the delicate neural interface. And he had to admit that he was slightly surprised - and even more relieved - at the discovery. During his childhood on Tatooine, Fixer had fed him gruesome stories of people with artificial limbs that looked like metallic skeletons, of mechanical eyes implanted into the backs of peoples’s heads, deformities so horrendous that they drove those people to insanity. Then again, Fixer’d always had a big mouth.

Yet while its appearance didn’t give it away as artificial, the feeling certainly did. It seemed incredibly unresponsive and dull, as if wrapped into a thick, padded glove, and his stump itched terribly where the synthskin touched his own.

Completely engrossed in the observation of his new limb, he only peripherally noticed the door slide open and the bulky form of Darth Vader entering the medbay.

The Dark Lord stepped up to where the medical droid was treating Skywalker and watched for a moment before he addressed 2-1B.

“I see the procedure was a success.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

The answer came quickly, and looking up, Luke was momentarily surprised when he realized that the droid’s voice seemed to convey a much warmer, more human tone than that of the Dark Lord. In a different situation he might have joked and laughed about the strange coincidence.

“His body will require some time to adapt to the synthennet, but he will eventually regain full use of his hand.”

“Very well,” Vader acknowledged with a curt nod. “You may leave.”

Luke’s gaze briefly followed the droid on his way out of the room but soon returned to his right hand.

“I believe you will be pleased with the substitute. There have been large advances in the field of cybernetics in the past decades.” Vader’s baritone broke the short silence.

The boy looked at him briefly, then let his eyes return to his hand. He ordered the fingers to flex - the artificial limb responded only slowly.

“It’s slow. And it itches from the synthskin, and…” his voice trailed off as, out of the corner of his eyes, he registered the Dark Lord flexing his own right hand while regarding it for a moment.

“Most of it will pass,” he answered plainly, “But it will forever serve as a reminder.”

With a sigh, Luke dropped his hands into his lap, instantly noticing the ever-so-slight difference in their weights.

“I don’t think I like it,” he muttered, staring at his fingers. As the sentence had crossed his lips, Luke could have sworn that he heard a sound akin to a sigh escaping the Dark Lord’s vocoder. Then again, was he even capable of that?

Maybe all the stress was getting to his head.

Maybe Fixer’d been right after all.

After a few moments, a low rumble rippled through the air, waking Luke from his memory.

“Meditate.”

He glanced up to find the Dark Lord’s gaze fixed on him. Despite being unable to perceive the Sith’s eyes or even facial expression, he felt caught by its intensity.

“Allow the Force to help you accept it as a part of you.”

“Meditate? I…”

While he had seen Ben sink into trances before, he had never attempted it himself, nor had he ever been taught in this technique. Their short time together had been so preoccupied with war and fighting that he had learned little besides the most basic lightsaber combat, lest he should have to fight for his own survival. Ben _had_ always told him to trust his feelings, but he was afraid it would be much more complicated than that.

“Has Kenobi taught you this little?” the baritone sounded, and Luke could almost sense the exasperation laced into it.

Maybe the medication was finally wearing off.

“We never really had time, I mean–“

“No matter,” Vader cut him off, “I will teach you. Close your eyes and follow my instructions.”

Luke raised his eyebrows at the man beside him. His thoughts had to be painfully obvious on his face, he was aware of it, but did not mind.

_Why should he trust Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and Second in Command of the Empire, of all people? Who said he wouldn’t try some dark mind trick on him, to manipulate him into doing whatever the Emperor wanted?_

Clearly, Vader had perceived every single ounce of his distrust.

“Do not be ridiculous, son,” he scolded, “I do not intend to _trick_ you. Meditation is a simple technique taught to the youngest of Force sensitives, but it is also the basis upon which most of your other skills will rely.”

The boy tilted his head slightly, debating whether he should trust this man or not, but something told him to not be afraid. That this man… his… father… would not hurt him. Slowly he nodded.

“Very well. Now, _close your eyes and follow my instructions.”_

Pressing his eyes shut, he waited patiently, expecting the familiar baritone to utter further directions.

_‘Now relax.’_

Luke tore his eyes open and shuffled away from the black form.

“What are you doing in my head?”

Again Luke could have sworn he had heard a sigh.

_Definitely coursing to insanity at lightspeed._

 “It will be much easier this way. Now, I do not like to repeat myself.” He hinted and gestured for Luke to close his eyes again. Hesitantly, he complied.

Instantly, the voice returned into his mind.

‘ _Relax. Expel the tension from your body and mind, detach yourself from your physical being.’_

It was curious, Luke thought, how different the voice sounded in his mind. Well, _sounded_ wasn’t quite the right word to begin with. He knew he wasn’t actually hearing the words, but still they were absolutely clear, clearer than even his own thoughts had ever been. At once he felt almost overwhelmed by the strength of his voice, yet strangely enough he felt at peace. There was no threat, no menace. Just a warm, sonorous voice focusing his mind in ways he had never known.

_‘You think too much, son. Free yourself from what you have learned. Allow your senses to perceive the Force, to draw on it.’_

Sure, that was easy for him to say, Luke thought with a slight edge of sarcasm. He _knew_ how to do it. Luke didn’t even really know how to draw on the Force. When he had done it before - at least he thought he had - it had been instinctive, and in moments of high tension, when he hadn’t even had the _time_ to think. It had never worked when he’d been alone with his thoughts.

_‘Patience, little one. I will guide you; you only need to follow.’_

Luke couldn’t help feeling somewhat helpless. Yes, he was sure that Vader had no intention of harming him - at least not in that very moment - but being so completely at the mercy of somebody else, having somebody _in your own head_ , it was disconcerting, somehow.

All of a sudden, he felt Vader’s presence in his mind and his fear flared momentarily.

‘ _Do not be alarmed. To fully open yourself to the Force, you will need to lower your mental shields.’_

Mental shields? He didn’t think he even had those…

_‘Trust me, my son, your shields are quite formidable for someone as untrained as your are. You have instinctively erected them. Do you feel this?’_

Luke shuddered slightly as he felt a kind of rapping in his mind. Vader’s presence was there, quite obviously, it had a very distinct signature. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to dispel something in his mind Luke had never even known to be there. Where the man’s presence rested, his mind felt afire, his senses heightened as if a 19 year old veil had been lifted. He _reached_ out towards it - well, of course he was not actually _reaching_ , but rather… willing himself to it -

_‘The Force is like a sentient being, you must only call for it. Once you understand its form, its feel, its motivation, it will heed your words, as you will heed its. You must only allow for it to happen.’_

Somehow, Luke understood, and suddenly it all seemed so easy, so painfully obvious. Of course he knew its feel; he had lived with it all his life, it had always been there. And its form enveloped him entirely, as it enveloped _everything_. He had to have been blind not to see it! And its motivation was his - as he would act out the will of the Force, it would follow his command.

And, finally, for the first time in his life, he consciously called out to the Force.

The sheer strength that answered him was almost overwhelming and he had to restrain himself to keep from crying out. All at once, everything around him felt _alive_. Not just humans and aliens, but _everything_. Entire planets rejoiced, welcoming him to the wonderful unity of the Force. And he rejoiced with them, basked in the glorious light that suddenly radiated throughout his body.

He was entirely intoxicated, so completely engrossed in the sensation that moments passed before he noticed that the presence of his father had withdrawn from his mind. His signature, however, was still close. He could clearly perceive it.

_‘Should you require further guidance, look for me. The Force will lead you.’_

Luke couldn’t help but smile for the first time in days.

‘ _Thank you.’_

 

The guttural roar of a Tusken echoed through the darkness in the distance as his gaze fell onto the woman strapped to a wooden structure and his blood instantly froze in his veins. He rushed to undo the straps around her wrists and slowly, carefully, gathered the small body in his arms. An angry growl escaped his lips as his eyes fell on her battered form. There were wounds, _so many wounds_ … Layer upon layer of scars defaced her skin and it felt raw at his touch. Blood collected in his hands, his tunic. Her blood.

‘You’re safe now. Hang on. I’m going to get out of here.’ He pleaded with her fiercely.

Her unfocused eyes turned in the direction of his face. He wasn’t sure if she even saw.

‘My son. My grown-up son. I knew you’d come back to me,’ she whispered hoarsely and brought a shaking hand to his cheek. ‘I’ve missed you so much - now I am complete.’

He could feel her life slipping away, but he refused to let her go. He _could_ not let her go. She was all the family he had ever had, he could not lose her.

Angry tears spilt from his eyes as he gripped her tightly, as if his raw strength alone could pull her from the grasp of imminent death.

‘I love…’

No matter how strongly he tried to hold her, she had slipped from him. Her body went limp against his and the light of life disappeared from her eyes. As the Force cried out around him, his heart was torn, never to be complete again, and before he could form any conscious thought, all the pain, hatred, anger and loss overwhelmed him.

And for the first time, he joined the Force in its battle cry.

For the first time, he felt no regret in giving in to the dark side.

Embraced it with fierce intensity.

Roaring, he drew his lightsaber and began the slaughter. Body after body fell to his blade.

The dark side rushed through him, his mind, and slowly, he lost himself in it.

‘You were the chosen one! It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them! You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!’

They mocked him. Everyone mocked him.

The pain in his body robbed him of all control. His flesh was forever charred, deformed, _useless_ \- yet it was nothing compared to the stinging betrayal that tore at his soul.

‘You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!’

 _Brother? Love?_ A laugh caught in his now worthless throat. How could he speak of family, of love, when it was all he had ever denied him? He had never been _allowed_ a family, been forbidden to love.

How could this traitor mock him so? Had it not been enough that he had destroyed his body, his soul, all to which he had dedicated his entire being?

Had it not been enough that he had turned everyone against him, even… _her–_

Finally, there was nothing but _her._ Her ivory face framed by those beautiful rivers of silken hair; her soulful eyes closed as in a peaceful slumber. And in her hands, clasped over stomach still swollen with his unborn child, rested the tiny japor snippet, a trinket so small and simple it would be disregarded by most. Yet to him, it signified the world.

He tortured himself with the images over and over, as he had countless times over the years. The wounds to his soul were old, just as old as those of his body, yet they would never heal. Again and again they were torn open afresh, draining him of all his hopes, of all his strength.

And every single time, a little of him died with her. He sometimes wondered when he would simply cease to exist altogether.

All of a sudden, something finally caught his attention. Something that had, up until now, hidden deep in the shadows, observing. Patiently. Curiously.

Something that had been there all along.

_‘Son?’_

 

Hydrospanner in his right, artificial hand and his damaged R2-D2 unit sitting in front of him, unmoving, Luke knew he should be getting to work. He knew he should be busying himself with repairing his little friend. He _wanted_ to.

But he just couldn’t.

Absentmindedly turning the tool over between his fingers, his mind relapsed to the previous night and to what he had seen. And likely shouldn’t have, he was aware.

After his first inebriating experience with the Force, he had been entranced by the feeling and constantly found himself wanting to return to it. So finally, when had been unable to fall asleep, he had opened his mind once more. And, oh, it had been wonderful. It had been everything he had never known he wanted. For hours, he had sat just listening. The constant babbling, muttering and mumbling of the ship was intriguing, and he had tapped into minds, jumping from one to the other… until something had disturbed him.

He had recognized the signature instantly. It had burned itself into his mind, ever present and somewhat comforting.

His presence had been disturbed, a myriad of emotions seeping from him into the Force. Luke had almost broken contact at their intensity, but he had always been too curious for his own good, as his uncle loved to remind him.

Before he had known - and he still was not quite sure just how he had done it - he became witness to scenes so disturbing he had wanted instinctively to flee from them. Yet something had made him stay.

His mind had fixated on the young man, on eyes as blue as his own, hair that had been bleached by Tatooine’s suns for too long. He instantly knew he was looking at Anakin Skywalker, the man that his father had once been.

His father… looking so shockingly like a younger version of the man he had envisioned and treasured in his dreams for so long.

The overwhelming anger, Luke had expected. But there had been much more to him than just that.

Betrayal. Loss.

Love.

His father, the man that had turned into Darth Vader, had once _loved_! And he had done so with such intensity, such fierceness…

Luke was unwilling to believe that all of it had died when he had turned. Last night, he had felt it - much too fresh to be just memories. Was it possible that Anakin Skywalker was still there, buried deep below that fearsome shell that was Darth Vader?

Just days ago, Luke’s initial thought had been flight. He had wanted nothing more than to get away from this nightmare and deny the truth he had been told. Now, however, he knew he couldn’t do it.

If Anakin Skywalker was truly still there–

Suddenly, the door slid open and Luke’s head snapped up. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had not noticed Vader’s approach.

The Dark Lord stepped into the room but kept his distance, almost warily.

For a moment, he eyed the boy, as if he were judging him. Luke met his gaze strongly, unfaltering.

“How are the repairs proceeding?”

Luke was aware Vader had chosen a safe topic - clearly his father knew of what he had observed - but he decided to play along for a while.

“Not so good, actually,” he replied with a shrug, “Hand still doesn’t work as it should.”

“Recuperation can be a slow process,” Vader acknowledged knowingly.

After regarding his son and the droid before him for a while, he sat down next to him on the workbench that had been placed into his room.

Luke was briefly stunned. He could not help feeling somewhat put off by the situation. Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, just casually sitting down with him. It then occurred to him that he had, in fact, not even seen him _sit_ before. Vader always seemed to stand. _Maybe because he knows just how intimidating his height is_ , Luke thought.

“Hand me the hydrospanner,” Vader instructed.

“Uh… sure,” Luke handed him the tool, blinking. He knew he probably looked like a surprised Blob fish just about now, but the situation just felt far too surreal to correctly register with his mind.

In silence, he watched as huge gloved hands opened R2’s access panels and began to work on the intricate network of wiring beneath it. His motions were precise, almost habitual, as if he were familiar with this kind of work.

“You’re pretty good at this,” The reverent praise escaped Luke’s lips before he even noticed it. _Way to go, farmboy._ He could have smacked his own forehead. _He’s gonna be so happy he’ll pat your shoulder and thank you nicely…_

Much to his surprise, however, a tiny hint of satisfaction rang to him through the Force.

“I owned an astromech quite like this one many years ago.”

With this simple statement, Vader carried on with his work, his son watching him in deep awe. After a while, however, the latter felt compelled to break the silence.

“Last night, I–“

“You would do well to forget what you may have seen,” the Dark Lord cut him off roughly, turning to fix him in an intense glare. “It is of no importance to you.”

Luke opened his mouth but thought better of it and closed it again. The last thing he wanted to do was to stammer and babble like a little child. _That would certainly leave an impression with Vader._

As the silence regained reign over the boy’s quarters, the tension seemed to rise to unbearable levels. Luke could clearly sense that he had struck a nerve with the Sith Lord. Whatever else it was, it certainly _was_ of importance. With its raw emotions, it had embedded it so deeply and thoroughly in the young one’s mind that he simply could not let it go. There were so many questions he needed to have answered, so many doubts he wanted erased, but in that very moment, only one came to his mind. One whose answer was of infinitely more importance than anything he could possibly wish to know.

“She was my mother, wasn’t she?” he asked calmly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

For an instance, Vader seemed too stunned by this bluntness to even move. But he quickly collected himself and, without ever attempting to reply, stood from his place on the bench and rushed out of Luke’s quarters. The tools noisily clattered to the floor as the door hissed shut and Luke was once again left with nothing but his thoughts.

Yet it didn’t matter. Luke had received his answer, had felt it.

Had received it with complete acceptance and filial loyalty.

His father was still there.

 

The wrinkled face distorted with glee as he watched the holo recording. It displayed a small man - no, not a man, a boy, merely - cornered by a dozen stormtroopers. Most curiously, however, the scrawny child was brandishing a lightsaber. While he had to admit that his motions were clumsy and spoke of little or no training, it was the ensuing scene that filled the Force around him with anticipation.

As his astromech was hit, the boy seemed to lose himself, hacking away at the soldiers unfortunate enough to be in his presence. That young one burned brightly in the Force, he needed not feel his presence to recognize as much. He could see the pain in the boy’s face, the anger and hatred that reminded him so much of a young Jedi he had known decades ago. His potential with the dark side, however, was possibly even greater, could he be turned.

The dark figure smiled to himself and folded his fingers in front of his face as he watched the holo return to the beginning of the recording to start over again. He did not bother to stop it. He had not seen such promise in decades and decided to allow himself the liberty to bask in the multitude of possibilities it brought with it.

_Clearly a most interesting development._


	9. Loyalties

When the small, perfectly circular forward eye came alive with its usual reds and blues, an accomplished grin spread across Luke’s features for the first time in many days. Not caring about the tools clattering noisily to the floor due to his sudden movement, the boy threw his arms around the small astromech in front of him. Probably not the manliest thing to do, he was aware, but he was far beyond caring.

He had spent many days and sleepless nights working on the little guy, had often grown frustrated and hopeless, dreading he might not be able to do anything after all. At times he had felt shocked about the extend of the damage and utterly clueless about how to even begin fixing it. Just then, however, when giving up had seemed like the only option, the solutions had come to him somehow, appearing from just beyond his conscious thoughts. Images, words, ideas. Like expert advice.

And it had worked out in the end, Luke admitted gladly.

Finally, a stream of beeps erupted from the small, cylindrical form. Confused, almost.

Luke drew back to look at his little friend.

“Well, seems like you’re okay now, huh?” he beamed, “You have no idea how glad I am to have you back!”

Gently, he ran his hands over the metallic surface and watched R2 with appraising eyes. The droid’s dome swiveled slowly, as if still dazed from just recently waking from a deep slumber. A few short beeps followed, and Luke’s gaze momentarily returned to the dual-colored eye.

“I guess with all the circuitry and memory banks I had to replace, you have no idea what happened, do you?”

A low whistle accompanied by a gesture so endearingly like a head being shaken confirmed his suspicions.

“Well, we tried to get away from here and managed to get to a landing bay, when a bunch of stormtroopers got wind of our little trip. Long story short: they got us and melted most of your insides with their blasters. When I first saw you after that…” Luke let out a disbelieving chuckle at the memory of the scorched droid’s sight, “I honestly thought you were done for. Boy, am I glad I was wrong!” he added with another broad grin at his tiny friend.

R2 seemed to regard him for a moment before he rolled closer toward Luke and let out a series of beeps and whistles. A question, judging by the intonation. Before long, the boy thought, he would have to start learning binary - for the moment, however, intelligent guessing seemed to be his only option.

“I’m fine, R2, don’t worry,” his gaze briefly dropped to his right hand, now resting on his thigh and he clenched it slightly, “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

And indeed his hand seemed to have improved quite a lot. The annoying lag and lack of responsiveness were finally gone, and even the difference in weight compared to his real hand no longer bothered him. Apparently, meditation could really work wonders. Ever since he had been taught how to contact the Force and employ it to help him, he had made sure to practice the technique - in fact, Luke thought he had made quite some progress. Yet not only had this newly discovered skill been a great help: it had also awakened a deep curiosity in the ways of the Force and all the abilities and powers he might possibly gain through it. He had been awarded a short glimpse into a much larger, more profound universe than he had ever known, and he ached to become a part of it.

As wary as he was of Vader, of… his _father_ … he currently seemed to be the only person who could introduce him to this new form of existence. His father had been a Jedi Knight once, after all. Rolling this thought around in his mind ever since after the short talk they had shared while repairing R2, the yearning in his chest had grown, and he had made up his mind to try and ask him about the Force; yet Vader had kept his distance. Not once had he come to see him, even though Luke could feel the Dark Lord’s presence close by. He wasn’t quite sure why his father was reacting like this, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with their last talk… and thus the dream they had inadvertently shared. Once Luke had asked about that beautiful woman he had seen borne to her grave in his father’s dream, Vader had closed himself off and left him alone. His question had definitely rattled him, Luke was sure of that - even if it seemed surreal for a person like Darth Vader to be affected in such a way. Maybe he’d hit closer to home than he had thought. Whatever it was, he was clearly on to something; and his innate curiosity certainly wouldn’t quiet down until he uncovered the secret.

A sudden flicker in the Force made Luke’s head jerk up in alert. At first, it was too indistinct to clearly tell what its reason was, yet after calming himself and reaching out, he noticed that his father’s mind had focused on him. And steadily, Vader’s presence was drawing closer.

So surely, within minutes, the doors to his quarters slid open and the ominous figure of the Dark Lord stepped over the threshold. Luke had no idea what had effected the change in his father’s mind to finally come to see him, but he was certainly not complaining. After all, he might finally receive the chance to have some of his questions answered.

Next to him, R2 suddenly let out a string of alerted beeps and shuffled closer to Luke, apparently disconcerted by Vader’s appearance.

Comfortingly, Luke placed a hand on the silver dome and patted it gently, a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, R2, it’s all right. But maybe you wanna shut down now while I give you some power.”

Apparently, the astromech agreed to the suggestion and soon powered himself down while Luke hooked it up to a small fusion furnace.

“I see the repairs are complete,” Vader’s baritone rumbled, almost _forcing_ Luke’s eyes to his black form.

“Yeah,” Luke replied, much more casually than he would have given himself credit for, “He was pretty messed up, but I guess it worked out in the end.”

“Rest assured that those responsible have received ample punishment.” Vader replied, his head turning from his son to the astromech and back with deliberate slowness.

Luke squirmed slightly at this, a kind of bitter taste rising in his throat. He was well aware of the man’s reputation as a ruthless and unforgiving… soldier - and those were some of the more _complimentary_ utterances he had heard - so it seemed only logical that any kind of punishment could mean little else than death. Luke’s chest ached at the idea. _What could have driven the young man from Vader’s dream, so passionate and righteous, to committing such cruel acts? What in the stars had happened to him?_

Vader regarded the unlikely pair for a moment, his gaze lingering on the small droid before returning to the boy.

“I hope you find your new attire… functional”, his mechanical voice came out almost hesitantly. Clearly, he was not used to conversations of this nature.

Frowning, Luke looked down at himself, regarding his body - it seemed he hadn’t done so consciously in days, having been so wrapped up in repairing R2. After his blaster wounds had healed, he had been allowed to get rid off the white medical outfit and had been supplied with a new change of clothing - after his own had been smoldered during his attempted escape. He was now dressed in black pants and a dark grey shirt that opened at the right side of his chest, much like he had seen in the TIE pilot uniforms, and gave a glimpse of the white undershirt. The fitting, highly polished black boots were currently leaning against his bed - sitting cross-legged on the floor, they felt too much like a hinderance to be completely comfortable. Somehow, it felt almost like a uniform.

“It’s all right,” he shrugged. “I’ve never cared too much about what I wear.”

“I see,” Vader replied curtly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I have come to inform you that we are approaching _Imperial Center_. We are scheduled to reach orbit at 0600. This leaves us very little time.”

“Time for what?” Luke frowned instantly.

Vader’s vocabulator produced a sound that seemed amusingly close to a sigh, but Luke dared not comment on it.

“Time to prepare,” he stated. “While the Emperor is currently off-planet, he will return before long. And he will expect to meet with you.”

Within split-seconds, a cold shiver ran through Luke’s body and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins.

_The Emperor…_

Of course somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known that he would have to meet him sooner or later - Vader was his immediate subordinate after all and would clearly not be able to hide his son from him - but to have things happen this quickly… It was mind-blowing. He didn’t know what he had expected… Vader running off with him to raise and train him out of range of the watchful eye of the Empire? Clearly not.

Apparently, Luke had again broadcasted his feelings through the Force, for Vader reacted almost immediately.

“You are right to be wary of him,” he stated, almost _encouragingly_ , “but you have nothing to fear. I will ensure that you are sufficiently prepared.”

Luke looked up at the polished helmet, his head tilted curiously.

“You’re saying you want to train me, don’t you?”

“Yes. It is imperative that you learn control.”

The boy leaned back and absent-mindedly ran his fingers across R2’s surface, gently tracing the various slots and openings.

“Well…,” he muttered lowly, “I _do_ want to learn about the Force but… I’ve always wanted to be a Jedi,” he paused for a moment and looked back up at the Dark Lord. “… like my father…”

Those words seemed to strike a chord in Vader, for Luke instantly felt the Force come ablaze with a sinister amalgam of hatred, betrayal and pain. He recoiled slightly, instinctively increasing the space between them.

“A _Jedi…”_ Vader spat, “I believe Kenobi never told you the truth about the _precious Jedi.”_

Emitting a noise that might have come out as a snort had the vocabulator known how to interpret it, he strode over to the viewports, his arms linked behind his back, and stared out at the stars.

Luke watched him curiously, not daring to break the silence.

Long moments passed.

“Had I followed the principles of the Order, you would never have been born.” He continued finally.

The sentence stood against the silence, and Luke felt himself instantly drawn in by it. Never before had he had a chance to learn anything about his father’s past - or even his own, for that matter - so his curiosity was instantly piqued.

“The Jedi condemned any kind of _attachment_. It was forbidden under threat of expulsion from the Order,” Vader seemed to labor with the words, and Luke knew they probably brought back images and emotions his father had tried to suppress for years, for whatever reason. “…Force sensitive children were taken from their parents in their infancy so they would never experience emotions. The Jedi tore apart families and banned any contact.”

The words shook Luke more than he was willing to admit. Ever since he had met Ben, he had had the image of the Jedi Knights as valiant defenders of peace and justice who always did what was right and wise. They were one with the Force, heroes, in a way. Would they really have been capable of such inhumane things? Take children from their families? Luke himself had yearned for his real parents for so long, had missed them so strongly that it felt sacrilegious to force such a situation on anyone. No child should ever have to know the sorrow of being an orphan. Even though Luke was unwilling to believe what Vader was telling him, he knew that his father was speaking the truth. The Force clearly told him as much.

“The Jedi were selfish,” he continued after a prolonged silence, “They eventually brought about their own demise. Their inferiority to the Sith is blatantly obvious.”

He turned away from the viewport and faced the boy still sitting on the floor, seeming ever so small. Luke knew that Vader felt his confusion.

“The Sith believe in strength through passion, power through strength. _You_ have felt this power before.”

Luke lowered his head. He clearly did remember. First back on Tatooine, then in the landing bay when R2 had been hit… His feelings had given him strength and control beyond anything he had known before, but at the same time, there was the strange notion that it had not been the right way. A nagging at the back of his mind that what he was doing was wrong. Had that been his intuition? Or maybe just the result of what Ben had taught him?

“Yeah, I have, but…,” he began, his voice trailing off.

“I sense your ambivalence,” Vader replied finally, “Yet in time you will choose your path. You need to be prepared.”

Luke nodded slowly.

“I… I do want to learn about the Force,” he added finally, fixing his father with a strong look. The promise of that unknown, incredible universe flooded with the essence of the Force stimulated his curiosity once more. He didn’t know what to believe, only that his father was speaking the truth. The sweet whispers of the Force were unmistakably clear.

“Very well,” Vader’s baritone woke him from his revery. “You will begin your training shortly.”

 

Leaning back against the black leather cushion of his hyperbaric chamber, Vader took a first, hesitant breath of the hyper-oxygenated air. As always, the welcome feeling of intoxication overcame him as the sweet substance ran down his trachea and into his lungs. No matter how often he experienced this situation, the sensation remained almost cathartic. It instantly calmed his mind.

Even now, it smoothed the tides of emotions the current circumstances had raised. Ever since he had found the boy and brought him with him, his inner turmoil seemed to have grown. And when he had asked him about the dream he had witnessed, had asked him about _her…_ his mind had been sent reeling. The boy had asked him ever so innocently, completely unaware of the repercussions of his question.

Then he had looked up at him. With _her_ eyes.

Those inquisitive eyes that had always looked right through to his soul, that had uncovered so much more and read him much clearer than even the Force could have allowed her to. Those eyes that, whenever they were directed at him, had made all his worries feel ever so small; the quarrels with his master, the distrust of the Order, his own ambivalence.

The boy brought it all back so easily and with such brute force that the sudden onslaught of memories had sent him fleeing from the child’s company.

Vader let out a short, bitter laugh, straining his untrained vocal chords.

Such behavior was hardly befitting of a Sith Lord.

He would have to compose himself, call upon the dark side for strength; he could simply not allow the boy to have such control over him.  The situation was much too serious. Once they reached _Imperial Center_ , new complications would arise; the city was full of watchful eyes and spying ears lusting for information that could be sold for a few credits, and people with as many enemies as Vader - even though hardly any of them would admit to being such openly - always had to go to great lengths to retain any sort of privacy. It would not be easy to keep the boy safe.

At least he had agreed to being trained in the Force. It would facilitate matters greatly.

Yet Vader had to admit that the boy’s readiness to listen to him still surprised him. He had expected resistance, possibly even anger. But what he had felt from him was far from that. Even though it seemed too hard to understand, Vader was sure that he had sensed a sort of loyalty from his son. Loyalty and an insatiable curiosity that reminded him of different times. He had clearly inherited much of the Skywalker spirit, the Dark Lord was almost proud to acknowledge. His potential in the Force he had already proven on numerous occasions. And his ability to adapt to new circumstances was utterly unhoped for.

While it was certainly true that the boy was still indecisive about his own destiny, having been fed the lies and Jedi propaganda by Kenobi, Vader knew that his own words had had an effect on him. In time, that much was certain, he would realize his own potential and choose the path that had been preordained.

Soon, he would have to be brought before his master, and prove his worth. Palpatine would unquestionably recognize the boy’s promise, so he would have to be cautious not to incite his suspicion, or anger. The boy was too precious to be lost, too vital to his plans. He was too close to finally bringing peace and justice to the galaxy to have his ambitions destroyed now.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the dark side of the Force to wash over him, nursed it with all his apprehensions and pain and relished in the power it awarded him. His tense muscles relaxed and even the itching of the synthskin - usually so strong he often felt like tearing it from his body - dulled down to a pleasant tingling. Opening his mind and ever so barely lowering his mental shields, he stretched out across the Force and drank in the multitude of feelings and thoughts of the beings around him. Blind to the wonders of the Force, all of them.

Except one.

The boy’s presence stood out blindingly from the untouched, undisturbed fabric of non-sensitives. His strength, though barely awakened and hardly trained, was so overwhelming  and bright that Vader felt instinctively drawn to it. In this short while, the signature had become so familiar, that he could hardly remember a time when it had not occupied a portion of his mind.

Even across the distance, he could clearly sense his son’s feelings as if he were standing right beside him. There were still the confusion and curiosity from before, along with that strange loyalty Vader felt hard to place. Yet at the same time, the boy seemed to grow restless. Certainly Vader could not blame him; he had been confined to his quarters for days while recuperating from his injuries.

Perhaps it was time to grant him respite.

 

Luke dropped down onto his bed with a sigh.

Next to him, R2 rolled up and down the polished floor, almost as if pacing nervously, and gave a series of beeps and whistles.

“I’m all right, R2,” Luke answered, guessing that his little friend had expressed concern. He _really_ needed to learn binary. “It’s just all so confusing!” He let himself fall back onto the mattress and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s like everybody’s telling me stories, and it’s getting pretty hard to tell who’s right and who isn’t it, you know?”

R2 gave a comforting beep and gently nudged his master’s leg. With a small smile, Luke reached his hand out and patted the silver dome.

“Thanks, R2. It’s really good to have you.” He paused for a moment, his mind once more running over the conversation he had just had with his father and everything he had learned from him. Luke knew it to be the truth, and yet…

“I just can’t believe Ben would’ve lied to me like that, you know? I mean, first telling me that my father’d died, then this whole thing with the Jedi… Stars, I’m so confused!” He sighed once more and, frustrated, rolled over onto this stomach and buried his face in the covers. Everybody seemed to be out to drive him insane; it just wasn’t fair… _Why did things have to be so complicated?_ He almost wished he were back on Tatooine. It might have been a boring hunk of dust, but at least things were simple there.

_‘You know you cannot escape your destiny.’_

Even though he clearly heard the voice, Luke refused to move. His Skywalker stubbornness forbade him to do so.

“Why did you never tell me about the Jedi?” he murmured after a while, a slight edge of hurt ringing in his voice.

 _‘Do not be bitter, Luke’_ , Ben’s incorporeal voice suggested gently. _‘I know you are confused, but there is no other way.’_

Luke snorted and raised his head.

“Of course I’m confused! As it turns out, everybody keeps lying to me and hiding things from me!”

R2 beeped confusedly, and Luke knew that his little friend could not hear the old Jedi, so he calmed him with a soft whisper and a pat on the head.

 _‘I have never lied to you, Luke,’_ Ben’s voice continued, and Luke strangely felt the old man’s presence coming closer. _‘In time you will learn that many truths we adhere to were formed from a certain point of view.’_

“A certain point of view?” Luke was up with a start. “Telling me my father is dead and that Vader killed him? I _saw_ how my father _died!_ I saw him get mutilated by that lava! He was _betrayed!_ How can you blame that on _him_?” Luke was so caught up in his accusations that he stumbled over his words.

It was as if the old man sighed.

_‘Do not let your feelings cloud your judgement, Luke. Your father has decided to follow down a dangerous path. We cannot afford to lose you like we lost him.’_

Luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“It’s true what Vader told me about the Jedi, isn’t it?” It was a statement rather than a question. At least he could give the old man the chance of explaining himself.

_‘You already know it to be true. The Order adhered to a strict code for thousands of generations. It was necessary to retain justice and order, even though some measures may appear extreme.’_

“That’s what you call taking children from their parents and not allowing them to see each other again?” Luke felt it hard to control himself. He had hoped Ben would give him a good reason, would give him some chance of regaining trust in the old man like he so dearly wished he could. Instead, he heard nothing but justifications.

_‘It was necessary, Luke. Even if you cannot yet understand.’_

_“_ So I guess it was also necessary that Jedi were forbidden to love?” His frustration only grew with each word they exchanged. “So it was a mistake that I was ever born?!”

Luke felt Ben’s presence approach him, as if trying to tear him from his rage and comfort him. The boy angrily shook him off and balled his hands into fists, pressing his eyes shut.

 _‘Your birth was the will of the Force, Luke. Never forget that.’_ Once more, the presence tried to calm him, and again he shook it off, much less energetically than before, however.

_‘Only remember this: be mindful of your thoughts. Do not let your hatred and anger lead you down your father’s path.’_

Luke was about to make a sharp retort when he suddenly sensed that the presence had left and that his words would fall on empty air. With a deep sigh, he stalked over to the bed and dropped back down, his hand once more coming to a rest on R2’s small dome to reassure the nervous astromech that he was, despite all appearances, doing well.

And he would be, if only everybody kept their suggestions and _good advice_ to themselves.

“Why can’t they just tell me the truth, R2?” he muttered in defeat. “And finally let me make up my own mind?”

 

Vader quickened his step as he approached his private quarters. Although he had planned on spending the remainder of the day inspecting the crew before their arrival at _Imperial Center_ to make sure that everything went according to plan, he had not been able to do so. The restlessness he had felt from the boy earlier had intensified to such immense levels that it constantly rippled through the Force, making it absolutely impossible for him to fully devote himself to any task. Something needed to be done, lest he lose his mind. The current situation was much too precarious and valuable to be jeopardized.

As he finally reached the section of his private quarters currently occupied by the boy, he paused for a moment before stepping in. Carefully reaching out with the Force, he probed the young one’s current emotional state. Should he be particularly upset or enraged over something, it might prove beneficial to prepare himself for the confrontation. There was, however, nothing but the usual confusion, anticipation, restlessness and fortunately only low levels of what seemed to be annoyance. Nothing that currently deserved further notice.

Deliberately, his large, gloved fingers keyed in the security code and he watched as the polished black panels slid apart and gave view of his son. He had, up until now, apparently been resting on his bed, the R2 unit sitting close-by, and hastily pushed himself into a sitting position upon noticing the Dark Lord’s imposing form. His force signature, until then rather placid and dull with inactivity, suddenly came alive with curiosity and even a small spark of pleasure. Vader sensed the reaction with quite some satisfaction. It appeared that the boy had, for some reason, begun attempting to form a connection with him. A development that might prove quite beneficial in the future.

Vader noticed the small astromech shuffling nervously and expressing his concerns over his arrival to his young master - although the Dark Lord was under the impression that the boy did not understand binary - yet he decided not to pay any heed and directed his words straight at his son.

“It seems that you have become restless due to your confinement,” he rumbled, the volume of his own voice almost coming as a surprise to him, “Since you constantly broadcast your emotions, it has become an inconvenience to me. Consequently something has to be done.”

He watched as the boy blinked at him for a moment before cocking his head and suspiciously raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Clearly the boy still retained his wariness.

 The Dark Lord crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

“I have come under the impression that you show interest in spaceships,” he watched as a frown developed on the boy’s forehead before he continued his explanation. “The _Executor_ is a fine example. Perhaps a tour might supply some diversion.”

No sooner had Vader finished the sentence that an enormous wave of excitement bombarded him through the Force. There was no doubt the boy had been aching for a chance to inspect his flagship, even if he had likely believed he would never be given the opportunity.

“Sure, that’d be great!” he exclaimed only an instant before his excitement dulled slightly with the seed of suspicion. “This isn’t some sort of plot, is it? A test or something?”

Had the vocabulator been able to interpret the sound, it would have carried the short laugh that formed in the Dark Lord’s throat.

“No. No plot. Not a test either,” he heard himself reply, “I merely request that you stay calm and civilized and refrain from further attempts of escaping. Your R2 unit will have to remain behind as well."

The boy looked over at his droid for a moment as if silently communicating with him before he turned back toward Vader and gave a slow nod.

“Alright.”

Unwilling to delay any further, the Dark Lord stepped back through the door, waiting until the young one had caught up with him and once more sealed the door from the outside. Skywalker might be under his direct supervision now, but he did not entirely trust the astromech either. Something about it reminded him of…

He shook the thought off quickly and took a few steps until he came to another door. Without opening it, he addressed the boy.

“I believe you have been in my office before.”

The short blonde almost flinched at the words, clearly remembering his last visit to the room during his attempted escape, when he had reclaimed the lightsaber and Ben’s book here.

“These,” Vader began as he had already walked up to the adjacent door, yet refrained from unlocking it as well, “are my _personal_ quarters. I use them for meditation, so I do not wish to be disturbed once inside.”

Luke nodded briefly, processing the information he was given. But apparently, a question had been raised in his mind.

“So this is where you sleep?”

The question seemed ever so innocent, yet to Darth Vader, its answer conjured up images where innocence no longer had any place. Images he was yet unwilling, and unable, to share.

“I… hardly sleep,” he chose to reply briefly. “My physical condition makes it all but impossible.”

The intonation made it clear that further inquiries were discouraged and Vader instantly felt the boy withdraw despite all his blossoming curiosity. One day, he knew, he would have to tell his son, have him see what he had truly become after the events the boy had witnessed in his dream, but it was not yet time. His son was not ready. And Vader was not entirely sure if he himself was.

The unlikely pair became quiet after their short exchange. In silence, they left behind the Sith Lord’s private quarters and walked down a multitude of corridors, each and every one looking strikingly similar to the one before. Any officers they came upon hastily jumped out of their way, while Vader could clearly sense their curiosity as to why such a small, perfectly unfamiliar boy might be in the company of the Dark Lord. Vader chose to ignore them. It would hardly do any good if he decided to make an example of any of them in front of his son’s eyes. Judging by what he knew about his character, he would most likely be abhorred and distance himself from Vader, thereby damaging the frail bond he was beginning to form. And Vader could not have that. Even if it meant to restrain himself for the time being.

For long moments, they walked in silence, the mechanical breathing of the respirator transforming into a kind of rhythm to dictate their solemn march. Eventually, Vader came to a halt before a large set of transparisteel windows. Luke had been so caught up in the daze of his own thoughts, that he barely managed to avoid running into his father’s large, armored form.

“ _Always_ be mindful of your surroundings.” came the gruff reprimand.

The boy’s lips curled upward into a small but shaky apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

Deciding to let the blunder slide, Vader turned away from his son to look past the transparisteel and at the vast space beyond. A landing bay. The main one, as was clearly visible by the size of it.

The Dark Lord watched as the boy walked up to the windows and let his gaze wander over the hive of bustling activity. Dozens of pilots and technicians were busying themselves among various types of Imperial snub fighters and shuttles. For one unfamiliar with Imperial protocol, the spectacle might appear uncoordinated, yet to the trained eye it was the perfect image of military precision. Everything and everyone aboard the _Executor, his_ flagship, worked at peak efficiency, a fact Vader took great pride in.

Consequently, he had expected the boy to gush about the scene and was rather surprised when none of the expected enthusiasm came.

The boy simply calmly observed the goings-on, his eyes flicking from ship to ship.

“Imperial fighters do not receive your approval, I presume.”

Luke did not even look up at the words, giving a small shrug in response.

“It’s not that. I just think that most of those standard issue snubs aren’t as efficient as they could be,” the boy fixed a nearby Interceptor with his eyes, “They have decent sublight engines, alright, but there’s no hyperdrive, no deflector shields, not even life-support. I know it’s supposed to keep the mass and weight down, but with the latest technology, that isn’t a big deal anymore. I mean, look at A-Wings! They have a Class-1 hyperdrive, and more than 5.000G of sublight acceleration. Unmodified, that is. I’ve even tweaked my X-Wing to be almost as fast as that. I could easily outrun any of those TIEs down there.”

Catching a breath before he intended to continue, it seemed the boy finally realized that he had been lecturing the Dark Lord - on somewhat sensitive military information, as well - and he stopped himself from saying anything else. An immensely strong blush not unlike a sunburn evidenced his discomfort.

Below his ebony mask, the Dark Lord raised non-existent eyebrows as he observed the boy squirm under his scrutiny. It seemed he had not only inherited his piloting skills and affinity for the Force, after all.

“You appear to have a keen eye for mechanics,” Vader complimented, earning himself a rather incredulous look from Luke. “When we arrive on _Imperial Center,_ I will have you take a look at my personal collection. I believe it might be more to your liking.” After all, flying was one of the few luxuries the Second in Command of the Imperial Fleet still allowed himself, and he consequently took great pride in both his extraordinary skills and his quite unique accumulation of rare snub fighters, speeders and other vehicles.

This, however, instantly piqued the young one’s interest. His blue eyes shone with curiosity, even the visual enhancement of Vader’s helmet could not hide that fact.

“What kinds of snubs do you have?”

A proud smile formed in the charred skin around Vader’s mouth as his mind went to his private hangar and the gems it held. A gleaming J-type diplomatic barge, an old, heavily modified Delta-7 _Aethersprite_ , an ARC-170, a V-Wing that had seen more battles than any of those TIEs ever would, and so many more. His heart swelled at the thought, his body instantly ached for the adrenaline rush of a good dog fight. But now was not the time.

“You will see for yourself soon enough.” Was his only response.

Even though he felt that the boy’s curiosity was hardly satisfied, he decided not to pursue the subject any further for the moment. The time would come.

“Now, I believe, a short visit to the bridge might be in order.” He supplied instead, knowing that the boy would be unable to resist taking the opportunity. Not many people ever had the honor of visiting the nerve center of his flagship unless they were part of the assigned crew. It could certainly be considered a privilege.

His son nodded eagerly.

“That’d be great!”

With a brief nod, the Dark Lord gestured for the small boy to follow him as he set himself into motion. Even without gazing at his companion, he became aware that Luke had to break into an easy jog to keep up with his long strides and for some reason he himself could not entirely comprehend, he slowed down until they shared a common pace.

They continued their way down uniform corridors and turbolifts, backtracking parts of their previous journey to reach the command tower atop the large dreadnaught. Here and there, the boy stopped to ask short questions about various technical issues such as terminal operation, cargo capacities or the number of supply lines necessary to power the multitude of engines moving the colossus, and Vader had to admit it felt rather refreshing to observe such a fresh look on problems he himself had become all too familiar and hence single-minded with.

Traveling in that manner, it seemed like mere minutes until the odd pair had reached the command tower and, after following up the stairs leading into the security foyer, finally spied the enormous bridge of the Executor-class Destroyer. Vader felt his son’s presence flare up instantly with the spirit of inquiry. It likely took all his composure to remain calmly at the Dark Lord’s side instead of walking ahead and inspecting station after station. It was, however, clearly understandable, Vader had to admit.

Leaving the communications consoles to their right, the two figures stepped onto the command walkway, defense and weapons stations framing their scenery to the sides. Instantly, heads turned their way from every direction, only to snap back hastily with a look of intense concentration. And fear.

_Good._

Vader noticed the boy frown as they stood for a moment.

“What do you sense?” the Dark Lord inquired, deciding to seize the opportunity and assess his son’s level of sensitivity.

“Everybody seems very… nervous,” he replied quietly - as if afraid somebody might overhear - and gazed at the crew pits, then back at the imposing figure to his left, “and afraid.”

“Good,” Vader complimented with deliberate slowness, “you are making remarkable progress.”

The surge of strange pride he felt from the boy sent a shiver down his spine. It was… _unusual_ for the Sith Lord to feel such positive emotional feedback from anyone. More often than not, he received nothing but fear, sometimes jealousy; even pride was usually laced with wariness. The boy’s purity was truly refreshing.

Accompanied only by the thundering of their steps on the durasteel floor - and at times observed out of the corner of the eye of an anxious crewman - they stepped up to the large transparisteel viewports, a spot Vader himself found had almost meditative qualities. He watched with mild curiosity as the scrawny young man walked up to the thick, transparent pane and stared out at the stars before him.

“I kinda like this spot,” he said, almost whispering, “It feels like you’re right in the middle of the stars.”

The statement almost took Darth Vader aback. It was as if the boy had found just the words to describe his own odd habit. It seemed as if there were still many surprises in store for him.

Suddenly, a precise voice disturbed the scene.

“My Lord?”

Vader turned to face the officer who had walked up to him.

“What is it, Admiral?”

“My Lord,” Piett gave a short salute before he continued with a firm voice, “We have just received a communiqué from our troops in the Zolan system. It seems that unforeseen complications have arisen. Captain Nevik is requesting to contact your Lordship.”

Vader processed the information and nodded briefly.

“Very well. Establish a connection,” he ordered before glancing down at the boy beside him, “and then see to it that the boy is returned to my private quarters, _safely_.”

Piett glanced over at the blonde for an instant before saluting.

“Yes, Lord Vader. I will escort him myself.”

As Admiral Piett made his way to Darth Vader’s private quarters, he could not help thinking that the situation felt somewhat surreal. While it was not unusual for his commander to take prisoners - and to deal with them personally, for that matter - the scrawny blonde walking alongside him seemed to be anything but a captive. Had he been such, Lord Vader would clearly not have allowed him to leave the confines of his cell, much less take him with him to inspect the bridge. More than that: the boy seemed to be residing in Vader’s _private_ _quarters!_

Of course Piett was well aware of the commotion the child had caused only a few days before, when he had apparently tried to flee from the _Executor_ and had suffered serious injuries in the process. A blunder that had cost Admiral Ozzel his life. Officially, Vader had announced the child to be a Rebel prisoner, and thus a valuable source of information, yet somehow it seemed that the Dark Lord was going out of his way to ensure his security. It seemed highly unlikely that such pains should be taken for some simple Rebel pilot. There was clearly more to the situation than met the eye - yet Piett knew better than to ask questions.

The boy, however, seemed to have none of those inhibitions.

“So, you _are_ an Admiral, right?” he inquired, innocently, glancing at him with those hypnotic blue eyes.

“Yes, Admiral Firmus Piett. Commander of the _Executor._ ”

“Hm…” he watched as the boy frowned, his eyes traveling to the insignia fastened to the chest of his uniform. “That’s odd. I always thought Admirals wore insignia with 12 squares, not 6.”

Piett’s eyes snapped down to this own chest with a start. He couldn’t believe he had actually forgotten to replace his old rank insignia. Hastily, he made a mental note to do so at the next opportunity.

“I have just recently received a promotion.” He stated plainly, unwilling to disclose that it had actually been the boy who had earned it for him.

“You must be a pretty good officer, then,” the boy complimented honestly with a smile. “Vader doesn’t seem like the type to dish them out easily.”

Piett almost snorted at the suggestion. In truth, Vader gave out many promotions, but often rather due to _sudden openings_ than sheer accomplishment. Still, it remained true that Darth Vader honored and even rewarded those officers that managed to perform in line with his standards. He himself embodied perfection, and he expected no less from his subordinates.

“He is a demanding commander,” Piett admitted, making sure to choose his words carefully, “But he is just and expects from others only what he himself is willing and able to do. His crew would follow him into any battle. I consider it an honor to be allowed to serve under him.”

“Huh…” the boy commented, “I never thought I’d hear anyone say that.”

“Most people in the galaxy know nothing but the stories. They hear of the ruthless, merciless murderer who wields enough power to crush anyone who interferes with his plans. But that is hardly all there is to him.”

The boy looked up at him curiously at that, clearly telling him to continue.

“Well, for one, did you know that it is largely owing to Lord Vader’s personal involvement that the public schooling system was established within the Empire?”

Again those blue eyes fixed on him, this time wide with surprise.

“Seriously? I’d never heard of _that_ …”

Piett smiled to himself and regarded the boy with kind eyes.

“I believe there is still much you will learn.”

 

“Wow, R2, look at this!” Luke exclaimed excitedly as he scrambled over to the viewports in his room. Beyond the transparent pane, a breathtaking spectacle unfolded before his eyes. A large globe was slowly gaining in size and swallowing everything else. It was unlike any planet Luke had ever seen: even from space, the surface was almost afire with lights. He could easily spy the larger highways, running across the planet like veins through a body, supplying the globe with its life-energy. There were patterns, even. Circles, spirals, long arches leading to other accumulations of lights. It seemed like there wasn’t a single spot of the surface that wasn’t being used.

Sure, back on Tatooine, Luke had heard the stories of _Imperial Center_ , the planet that never slept, never even went dark. But he had never been able to truly imagine it, not with the little experiences he had made.

This was the center of all civilization, a place where so many important things had taken place - and still did every day. True, it was like a Krayt dragon’s cave; the heart of the Empire, seat of the Emperor, but still he couldn’t help feeling psyched at the thought of what all he might soon experience. _Imperial Center_ was, if nothing else, a _much_ more exciting place than Tatooine could ever be.

_Imperial Center,_ Vader thought with disgust, an uncomfortable shiver running down his spine.

No other planet held such ambiguous emotions for the Dark Lord. Once, in times long forgotten, the very heart of his life, the source of excitement and adventure for a small boy so tired of living in captivity, the place he longed for when on seemingly endless missions in the Outer Rim territories, the only place he could be with _her…_

Now it appeared as nothing but a hive of corruption. Power- and credit-hungry incompetents falling over each other for their fifteen minutes of fame. It was pathetic. The planet was now nothing more than a prison of obligation and observation. No action would go unnoticed, no word uncommented.

Keeping the boy safe would be an arduous task, he was well aware, yet it was equally vital. Complications would no doubt arise, such could not be circumvented. His numerous enemies would gladly seize the opportunity, once they became aware of his relationship to the boy, and try to use it to their advantage. Yet he would have to deal with such events when they took place.

Now, there were other troubles occupying his mind. Before long, his master would return, and the boy would need to be ready to face him.

There was not much time.


	10. Relocation

Even though Luke found it hard to believe, his excitement grew with each passing second. With hurried steps, he entered the shuttle waiting for them in the _Executor’s_ main docking bay, flanked by two guards clad in the iconic white armor, the imposing form of Darth Vader shielding his back. The clatter of their footfalls rang like thunder against the hard durasteel floor.

Once they had ascended the boarding ramp, the boy’s eyes wandered around curiously. He had seen schematics of these kinds of shuttles before, and while the outside of the vessel appeared perfectly typical, the interior exhibited some strange alterations.

While the guards habitually took their assigned posts, Vader remained near the boarding ramp as it was being sealed with a sharp hissing sound.

“This _is_ a _Sienar Fleet Lambda class T-4a_ , right?” Luke inquired.

“Correct.” Vader replied briefly, crossing his arms in front of his massive chest, unmoving.

“Huh,” the boy retorted, still gazing around the small space he currently found himself in, “I always thought there was more crew space back here.”

Vader seemed to regard him with some curiosity before he spoke.

“There usually is. This, however, is my _personal_ shuttle,” he explained, his voice almost deafening in the small compartment, “and I have had it modified to suit my needs. I do not generally require large numbers of troops or security personnel.”

“Makes sense…” Luke commented with a nod after briefly regarding the Dark Lord.

He stood in silence for a moment, eyes wandering across several small doors and openings to other compartments, itching to find out what might be hidden behind them. Debating whether he should try his luck and ask, a sudden rumbling of the engines tore him from his thoughts. A series of small warning diodes flashed overhead and the floor and walls instantly came alive with a rhythmic, full vibration.

“We are about to take off,” Vader explained curtly, “I strongly suggest that you take a seat.”

Blinking, Luke watched as the Dark Lord sat down and strapped himself into one of the passenger seats. Seeing the imposing figure in any position other than standing up still seemed somewhat atypical, he mused with a small grin.

As the rumbling from underfoot increased, however, he quickly followed suit and secured himself in the seat next to his father. To his right, R2 steadied himself on his stubby legs with a series of short beeps.

Despite the compartment’s noise dampening layout, the engines’s roar gained in volume until it drowned out even Luke’s thoughts. He quickly reached out to his right and placed a calming hand on R2’s dome as an immense tremor ran through the small vessel.

They had finally taken off.

Gradually, the shudder and noise died down until they were nothing more than a quiet drone in the background.

“I guess Imperial pilots aren’t trained for smooth take-offs, huh?” Luke thought aloud. _I could definitely pull that off better than any of them._

“Remaining alive generally takes precedence in a military setting,” Vader retorted while undoing the straps around his torso, “Yet you will certainly receive the opportunity to demonstrate your own abilities in time.”

Instantly, a furious blush crept across Luke’s face. He really needed to learn to control his thoughts when he was around his father. Fingering nervously, he opened his own security straps, a smart remark dying in his throat.

An uncomfortable silence quickly blanketed the small compartment and before long, Luke found himself impatiently drumming his fingers on the cushioned armrests.

“Perhaps you might prefer to witness our descent from the cockpit.” A strong baritone suggested.

Luke’s head snapped to the left, regarding Vader with wide eyes. He had been under the impression that he was at least some sort of captive - considering the security officers observing his every move since he had left his quarters with what little belongings he had - so he hadn’t dared to hope. But he definitely preferred being surprised to being right in this situation.

Nodding briefly, a broad smile on his lips, he almost jumped out of his chair and hurried toward the cockpit, hardly able to wait for the thick door to slide open. When it did, however, he instinctively blinked in surprise. Where he had expected at least a handful of personnel, he spied nothing more than a single officer sitting at the controls. All the remaining chairs were empty.

The pilot briefly turned his head toward Luke, nodding a quick salute, then directed his gaze back forward. He seemed hardly impressed with the boy’s arrival.

Shrugging inwardly, Luke decided to be grateful for not having to explain himself - _maybe Vader had informed the officers beforehand? If so, how much had he told them?_ \- and ushered forward, passing the gunnery station and coming to a rest behind the co-pilot’s chair.

As soon as he spied the scenery beyond the transparisteel viewport, he no longer had eyes for any controls: _Imperial Center_. What had already been impressive from aboard the _Executor_ was simply mind-blowing up close. His heart thundered in his chest in excitement as he caught the first close-up glimpses of the core-world’s surface. The glowing circles and formations from before had taken shape, turned into busy skylanes, illuminated landing platforms and manmade buildings towering so high he wondered if one could possibly even open their windows without being sucked into the vacuum of space. Any stories he had heard of the planet before paled easily against the breathtaking reality.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” the pilot looked up at him with a knowing smirk. “I remember when I first came hereafter graduating from _Carida_. You hear the stories, but nothing can really prepare you.”

Luke nodded, letting out a short laugh.

“Yeah, it’s pretty different from where I grew up.” He was about to go into more detail and tell the young officer about _Tatooine_ , but swallowed his words at the last moment. He was pretty sure that his father wouldn’t want him to give away such information carelessly.

“Just wait ‘till you’re planetside,” the pilot added, a lieutenant, judging by his insignia, “There’ll be loads of things you’ve never even heard of.”

He was silent for a moment while Luke’s eyes wandered over the purplish planet now taking up the whole of the viewport, drinking in the sights before him.

“See that huge body of water over there?” the lieutenant gestured toward the western hemisphere, “That’s the Western Sea. Last natural water reservoir on all of _Imperial Center_. And that rock formation to the east, that’s the Manarai Mountains. Only place they haven’t plastered with buildings yet. Couple of retreats of the rich and famous, though.”

Luke nodded once more, his eyes fixed on the planet’s manmade surface, dissecting whatever came into view. Suddenly, something commanded his gaze to a large, pyramidal structure easily towering over everything in its vicinity. Its gray-green walls, aglow with hundreds if not thousands of small lights, sent a cold shiver down his spine. It felt _wrong_.

“What’s that?” he pointed to the building.

“Ah, that monster,” the lieutenant answered, “That’s the _Imperial Palace_ , where the Emperor stays when he’s in the capital. Guess you could call it the nerve-center of the Empire. Lots of things happen behind those walls. Pretty impressive up close, too. People keep getting lost in there all the time,” and with a short laugh, he added, “couple of weeks ago, Maintenance found a corpse at one of the desks in the office sections, several weeks old by the looks of it. ISB thinks the poor guy had a heart attack and nobody noticed. _That’s_ how big that thing is. A maze, quite literally. You might wanna take an astromech, or at least a nav-device if you ever get in there.”

Eyes glued to the palace, the boy nodded.

“Thanks, I’ll make sure to do that.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Luke became aware that he would have to pay a visit to the palace sooner or later. Whether he liked it or not.

Vader watched silently as the boy stormed off to the cockpit. The little one’s excitement coursed through the Force in powerful streams, impossible to ignore. Yet it did not require a sensitive to read his current emotional state; his whole body easily betrayed him.

And Darth Vader understood. _Imperial Center_ was a unique planet; it held the promise of adventure, of the unknown. No matter how much time one spent on the ecumenopolis, one would never be able to learn about all of its sides, neither the sightly nor the dark ones. It was a planet that never ceased to surprise even the most seasoned of travelers.

Lifetimes ago, he himself had felt its irresistible pull, had experienced the indescribable wonder of first laying eyes on what had become the center of the Galactic Empire as well as of his own life. To the innocent, influenceable slave boy from the dreary Outer Rim, _Coruscant_ had been a playground of unlimited potential. No longer distracted by the daily fight for pure survival, the boy had finally discovered the pleasures of life. In spite of every piece of good advice - and certainly much reprimand - he had embraced the thrill of danger; illegal races, speeder diving, the underground levels teeming with criminals - nothing had seemed more inviting than the forbidden.

Even though disillusionment and the very gloom of reality had served to extract even the last remainders of promise for him, Vader was well aware that his son, having inherited many more the cursed Skywalker genes than he had ever thought possible, would likely try to seek similarly dangerous occupations to pass his time.

Images easily came before his mind. Uninvited, unwanted. Yet persistent.

 _His_ son _jumping from a speeder, plummeting down the bottomless abysses of the capital, vehicles barely managing to avoid the falling body, the scrawny form almost smashing into walkways, zooming within inches of durasteel landing platforms, ever falling…_

Closing his eyes behind his ebony mask, Vader banished the thoughts from his mind, trying to suppress the dread slowly creeping up on him and quickly gaining a tight grasp on his chest.

_Cursed Skywalker genes indeed._

 

Having exited the shuttle and walked down its boarding ramp, Luke found his curiosity mounting to unbearable levels. Finally they had reached _Imperial Center_ and set down in a massive landing bay. From the cockpit, he had seen that they were still within walking distance of the Imperial Palace, and their current location was only marginally less imposing: at least several hundred meters higher than any of the buildings surrounding it, the sleek black structure exuded an air of dominance and regality. Although it was far less intricately designed than the palace, its clear straightforwardness portrayed strength and control.

Luke waited by the foot of the ramp, R2 faithfully at his side, for the Dark Lord to leave the shuttle and join him. His father hadn’t spoken to him for the remainder of the short trip - somehow, Luke thought, he’d seemed _tense_ \- and the boy could hardly contain his questions.

Finally, thunderous steps announced Vader’s approach while the shuttle’s engine slowly powered down. Briskly, he walked up to the young blond man and his astromech.

“Follow me,” he ordered without stopping and began to walk across the nearly empty hangar.

With a jolt, Luke set into motion and jogged to his father’s side, falling into step to his left.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking up at the polished black helmet.

“My palace,” came the simple answer.

Luke almost stumbled at the word, his eyes wide in amazement.

“Your _what?”_ he couldn’t stop himself from muttering.

Vader briefly gazed down at his son.

“My palace,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy. “I have several private retreats on _Imperial Center_. This is the one I use most frequently.”

Luke knew he was still gaping, but he couldn’t help himself. He was well aware that his father was a high ranking officer, to say the least, but somehow he hadn’t expected anything like this. It seemed fairly surreal to him.

“This residence is located in the Palace District,” Vader explained as the unlikely trio continued down spacious corridors, clean-cut structures of dark wood elegantly illuminated by endless series of wall-mounted glowspheres, “As you may have noticed, the Imperial Palace is within walking distance and can directly be accessed via a series of high security tunnels and walkways. Those are off-limits to anybody but the Emperor and myself.”

Luke nodded absent-mindedly. The shuttle pilot’s story still fresh in mind, he tried to memorize each corner they were taking, each corridor and turbolift, but soon had to give up exasperatedly.

“Do not worry, young one,” the mechanical voice sounded suddenly, “You will soon have familiarized yourself with your new surroundings. Additionally, you will find my personal security officers at various stations throughout the building. I have alerted them answer to your requests.” After a short pause, he briefly looked back down at Luke and added, “As long as those are sensible.”

For a while they walked in silence, Vader’s automatized breathing lulling Luke into a comfortable daze. Visually, his surroundings supplied little distraction as well. While there was a certain air of practical elegance about everything, he couldn’t find a single piece of unnecessary furniture or decoration. Of course he hadn’t expected galleries of holos or fancy pieces of art but… well, in fact, he had no idea just _what_ he had expected.

“You appear to be… _confused_ ,” Vader supplied, breaking the silence, apparently sensing Luke’s mental state.

Luke looked up at his father’s masked face, studying the polished surface.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, not knowing whether he might be overstepping implied boundaries. “It seems a little empty. Almost like nobody’s living here.”

The Dark Lord paused for a moment before replying simply:

“I see no need for _embellishing_ my surroundings.”

“Oh okay…” the boy commented uncomfortably, unwilling to press the issue further. His father had apparently done away with his past for some reason Luke couldn’t quite understand yet. But in time, he was sure, he would learn more. After all, Anakin Skywalker _was_ still alive, and if anyone was able to draw him back to the surface, it would be his son, Luke thought with no little amount of self-confidence.

As they walked on, the young man had the strange feeling that security measures were increasing; he spied several surveillance cams blending into the wooden walls, well-hidden deactivated force-fields set into the floor and, above all, countless stormtroopers standing at attention near possibly vital rooms and turbolift entrances. Minutes later, having entered another corridor conspicuously like all others before, yet apparently very close to the top of the building, Vader came to a halt before a closed door.

“These,” Vader began, gesturing his gloved hands at the corridor, “will serve as your quarters. This corridor accommodates a bedroom, a training hall, an office as well as a communications suite, a balcony and several storage compartments. You may make use of them as you see fit. My personnel will provide you with a comlink and custom security codes shortly.”

Luke nodded, trying to take in the information as he watched Vader’s gloved hand hovering over the door panel, habitually punching in an unlock code. Noiselessly, the polished door slid open to give view of the room beyond. For what seemed like the dozenth time since he had left the _Executor_ , he gaped in disbelief as he stepped over the threshold and followed his father.

While equally sparsely furnished as his quarters aboard Vader’s flagship, the sheer size of the room overwhelmed him. There was a large bed against the rightmost corner of the wall, several shelves lining the entire room, an enormous desk with a formchair facing a window overlooking the Palace District, a leather couch opposite an expensive looking, wall-mounted holovid, and a door set into the wall to the left, likely separating the bedroom and its adjoining fresher unit.

“I hope you find your quarters adequate,” Vader stated, trying to provoke a verbalized reaction from this son.

The boy simply stood in the middle of the room, arms at his sides, looking every bit like a lost, little shaak.

“I…”, he stuttered, momentarily at a loss for words, “It’s… huge… Half our farm would fit in here!” he finished before he was even aware of what he had said. The unexpected reminder of his dead aunt and uncle, however, instantly dimmed his euphoria and he lowered his head slightly, his eyes suddenly fixed on his boots. R2, very attuned to his young master’s recent mood swings, quickly rolled up to him and nudged him carefully, uttering a string of soft beeps and hoots. Luke gazed over at him with a small smile and gently patted the silvery dome.

“Don’t worry, R2, I’m fine,” he said softly.

The short, following silence, however, was soon broken by Vader’s mechanical baritone.

“Very well. My own personal quarters are located in the adjacent corridor. Should you require anything, contact either myself or one of my officers. I now have pressing matters to attend to,” he stated, turning back toward the corridor, yet before he had fully stepped out, added, “I will call on you later.”

With that, the black form crossed the threshold, his sable cloak billowing behind him as the door slid shut, leaving a downcast Luke to his own devices. Somehow, he hadn’t felt this alone in days.

A soft whistle drew his attention to the small astromech and he slowly knelt down, now on eye-level, and brushed off some unseen dust from the droid’s metal surface.

“So… what do we do now, R2?”

 

“You sure you can trust your source?”

“Sure as a Hutt is fat. Can’t say it’s him yet, but it sure doesn’t look good. I’m sorry, buddy.”

“Alright. Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

That said, Han Solo cut the holo transmission and sank back into the pilot’s chair. With a sigh, he brought his hands behind his head and looked up at the cockpit ceiling.

It _definitely_ didn’t look good. For weeks, there had been no news of Luke; no messages, no communication, not even the slightest sign where the boy could’ve ended up. Now that he finally had a hint, he should probably be grateful for the information, but the content left little to celebrate. According to Lando’s sources, the Imps had taken a Rebel prisoner above Tatooine - worst of all, it had been Darth Vader’s personal flagship, the Empire’s new monstrosity called _Super Star Destroyer,_ that had picked the man up. And as if all of that wasn’t bad enough already, the prisoner had apparently tried to make a run for it, but had been seriously injured before being recaptured. As Lando had said, an Admiral by the name of Ozzel had been held responsible for the incident; and _replaced_ , meaning death by execution in Imperial terms. Considering that Vader had sacrificed such a high ranking officer, the prisoner had to be of some importance… just like the Rebel pilot that had almost single-handedly destroyed the Emperor’s precious _Death Star_.

Han cursed inwardly, and ran a hand across his face.

A Star Destroyer alone was bad enough, especially Vader’s, for that matter, but if the rumors were true, the ship was en route to _Imperial Center_ and quite likely there by now.

How in the nine hells were they supposed to get the kid out of there? It was the blasted heart of the Empire!

Han let out another sigh and sank deeper into the chair. The description was close enough, and even if he didn’t have any visual evidence yet, no security recordings or official reports, there was little doubt that it really was Luke, that the Emperor’s lapdog had really managed to get his hands on the boy.

A sudden noise tore him from his thoughts as the door to the cockpit opened and the Princess stepped in. With a tired sigh, she walked up to the co-pilot’s seat and sat down.

“Please remind me to leave 3PO on Thila next time,” she said, rolling her eyes, “He is absolutely adamant about Luke and R2 being in trouble. I just can _not_  listen to it anymore.”

Han simply looked at her and then, instead of replying, turned to the nav computer, re-checking their course but hardly seeing what he did. He knew just how worried she was about Luke; he had always been important to her ever since they had met. The rings under her eyes clearly attested to the fact that she got very little good sleep lately, and he couldn’t blame her. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, the kid’s disappearance drove a cold dread into his heart. All the more now that he finally might have an idea of what had happened to him.

“Is something wrong?” Leia’s small voice came to his ears, and he awarded her with a brief glance.

Her dark eyes betrayed all the feelings of fear and panic she managed to hide so well. Thinking that, as a leading member of the Rebel Alliance, she wasn’t supposed to show any weakness, the Princess always put up a strong front, her emotions only ever shining through in moments when she felt unobserved. But the worry was there. He could clearly see it.

Han knew that she ached for any hint of what might have happened to Luke - that she herself had started gathering information on his potential whereabouts. It would be only fair to tell her what he had found out.

She deserved to know.

“Just making sure Echo base’ll give us the warm welcome we deserve, your Worshipfulness,” he retorted.

She deserved to know, but he just couldn’t tell her.

 

As the small bedside chronometer flipped casually from 0159 to 0200, Luke threw his hands over his head in defeat. After the long day he had had, he should be fast asleep by now, giving his body and mind some chance of recuperating while getting accustomed to his new surroundings. Tonight, however, sleep would not come to him. It was not like he was particularly brooding over something; quite the opposite, his mind felt rather empty, his every muscle and sinew drained of all energy.

There was absolutely no reason why he should not be able to fall asleep.

Lazily, his gaze wandered over the darkened room. At the side of his bed stood the silent form of R2, powered down for the night after Luke had finally been able to convince him that it wasn’t necessary to guard him while he slept. Little else had changed in his new quarters: a tiny, state-of-the-art comlink and a small datapad containing his new security codes, placed safely on his desk, were his only belongings - his father likely still retaining his bag holding Ben’s book, and possibly even his old lightsaber.

His father…

As he had been taught, Luke slowly opened his mind to the Force, and, taking a firm hold of its glistening fabric, reached out to the  voices around him. The sudden onslaught of myriads of beings made him flinch and draw back for a moment. Their thoughts were deafening almost, and Luke had to resist the urge of covering his ears with his hands, knowing it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Instead, he forced them down into a steady chatter of static, barely audible but still within grasp should he choose to listen. Unknowingly, he had come to pant, his forehead glistening with cold sweat. When he had reached out before, he had always been in an isolated setting, dealing with a limited amount of sentient beings. Never before had he had to deal with the echoes of an entire _planet_. That, however, he supposed, was something he would have to grow accustomed to. After all, he had only begun to learn about the Force.

Then again, there were some things he was able to do almost instinctively.

Taking a deep breath, he drew in the welcoming, almost _intoxicating_ air around him - so deeply laced with the Force, so instantly calming - and focused his mind on the one signature that had become so much like an extension to his own. Rough around the edges and deeply tainted with darkness, it still exuded a strange sensation of belonging and familiarity.

He could clearly sense it.

His father was close. And approaching still.

Even despite only having begun his training, the boy instantly felt the unprecedented levels of tension radiating from his father. Apparently, being back at the capital was already taking its toll on him.

All of a sudden, Luke’s eyes tore open and he jerked into a sitting position as a loud rumbling crashed against the window to his right.

_An explosion?_

Suppressing an instinctive worry, he was up on his feet within split-seconds and made his way over to the large transparisteel pane. Puzzled, he quickly ran his hands across the control panel and removed the nighttime shade. Instantly, the glaring lights of the ecumenopolis invaded the room and Luke quickly brought his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness. For a fleeting moment, the light even intensified, followed by another earth-shattering roar.

 _A thunderstorm_ , Luke recognized finally and watched with a smile as eventually, large droplets of water began to pound against the window.

_Rain, real rain!_

In awe, he placed his hands on the transparent pane, watching the sudden downpour with undivided attention.

_So much rain!_

At once, an idea came to him and before he was even fully aware of it, Luke was already dashing out of his bedroom and into the dimly lit corridor. Retracing his earlier steps in a haste, he eventually skidded out onto the balcony. His fingers shaky with excitement, he deactivated the forcefield sheltering the large terrace from the elements and finally stepped out into the chilly air, large raindrops instantly drenching every inch of his skin. Yet instead of drawing back and seeking cover, he walked up to the railing, and, with the most childish of grins on his face, closed his eyes and threw his head back.

_All that rain!_

_It never rained like this on Tatooine, never more than a short drizzle,_ he remembered as he let the water gush through his hair, over his grinning cheeks, trickling into his mouth. The steady rhythm of the pouring rain massaged his tired skin and the distant, full peal of thunder eased his mind. He stood motionless for minutes, simply cherishing the raw power of the elements.

“I had assumed I would find you asleep,” a voice so much like the crash of thunder interjected.

Luke opened his eyes with deliberate slowness and looked over to where his father stood, sheltered from the rain. He shrugged, a sheepish but innocent smile turning his face into that of the little desert boy who had just received his first swimming lesson.

“I like the rain,” he explained simply, “We never had much of it on Tatooine. And whenever we would get a thunderstorm, there’d be so much sand blown up by it–“

His eyed dimmed slightly at the memory; once more the voices of his late aunt and uncle came to haunt his mind.

“Harvesting this much water would’ve taken us months,” he added with a short, disbelieving chuckle, “ _Uncle Owen_ sure would’ve been happy. Maybe he would’ve even cut me some slack.”

Vader still stood motionless near the entrance, watching the scene before him.

“Your uncle was always an obdurate man.”

Curiously, Luke blinked as the words sunk in and his eyes came to rest on the dark form of his father who was finally taking the first steps toward him. For a silly moment, he wondered whether Vader was even able to walk out into the rain or if the moisture would possibly short-circuit his suit, but he quickly pushed the thought aside - lest his father might pick it up.

“You knew him?”

“Briefly,” was all the Dark Lord was willing to supply.

“Hm…” Luke muttered as familiar scenes began to unfold before his inner eye, dinner-table discussions, arguments and ill-directed insults whose mere memory now sent pangs of guilt into his heart. “He never told me anything, about… _you_ …”

Now standing at the railing beside his son, Vader briefly regarded the boy before gazing out at the skyline of the Imperial capital. The rain drummed heavily against his polished helmet and shoulderplates.

“He never agreed with the path I chose,” he supplied, “The greater workings of the universe are beyond the understanding of the simple man.”

Luke caught a sideways glance at his father’s mask and, with a small nod, found that he had to agree. There had been so many things his uncle had never understood - had not even been willing to understand.

Still… Owen and Beru Lars might have been simple people, but they were the ones that had raised them. It had been Beru who had come to a 5-year-old Luke crying in his bed scared out of his wits, because he had dreamed of the big bad Krayt Dragon coming to eat him, and it had been his uncle who had scraped together what little money he was able to save to buy his nephew the _T-16 skyhopper_ the boy had begging for for years. Despite all he had been denied in his childhood, he had certainly had a loving home…

It was almost as if his father had felt his growing distress for he suddenly turned to his son, his deep baritone pulling the boy from his unmerciful thoughts.

“It is already late. I advise that you return to your room and sleep,” And turning around, his drenched cloak following his motions only sluggishly, he added, “Rain is quite frequent on _Imperial Center_. You will soon become accustomed to it.”

His blond hair plastered to his forehead and hanging lazily into his eyes, he watched his father retreat inside, unable to shake the immense feeling of loss expanding inside his chest.

 _He’d_ had _a home…_

 

_Effortlessly, the small snub evaded the incoming enemy fire and he pressed his eyes shut. Sight was no longer necessary._

_As he felt his first target come into range, he pressed the trigger with one deliberate, precise move of his thumbs and watched in satisfaction as the enormous cruiser burst apart into myriads of pieces, the sudden brightness dimming the transparisteel canopy. Yet he moved on, even blindly. His snub spiraled, rose and criss-crossed among the enemy vessels, obliterating ship after ship in a cascade of detonations._

_Through the Force, pain, hopelessness and fear assaulted his senses, and he relished them, drank them in thirstily. They fueled his frenzied flight until there was only him and the wideness of space afire with countless explosions. And his own, mad laughter droning out the static of dead communication lines like a victory song._

_His laughter echoed on even as he stepped forward, his crimson blade in hand, the only light to illuminate the narrow corridors of ice. It was a game of hide and seek, and he would always be the winner. Snow and ice crashing under his feet, he advanced surely across the unfamiliar terrain. He needed no maps or directions, for the dark side guided him with a strong hand. Over the course of his wicked contest, he came upon dozens over dozens of soldiers - male, female, humanoid, alien - but he took little notice. It took him no more than a brief flick of his right, gloved wrist to do away with any of them. None of them were any match to the dark side of the force, and his little game was slowly turning boring._

_Soon, his senses alerted him to a more promising target and a wicked smile crept onto his lips. He would_ finally _be able to rid himself of them._

_Traitors, liars, all of them!_

_His rage rose as he followed his pulsating blade into the small cavern and ultimately laid his eyes upon the small, female figure before him. Her fragile body backed into the wall, her brown eyes full of fear but pleading at the same time._

_Yet he heard none of her words._

_Circling his wrist in amusement, he let his blade hiss through the frigid air, ever so slowly closing in on the small woman._

_Somehow, his gaze became fixed on her face. Something told him that she was familiar, yet he refused to search his memory. Memories had never done him any good in his life. The air was still filled with nothing but the low hum of the saber, and her lips kept moving, mouthing words that never made it to his ears._

_And still, that one word…_

_…k…_

_L…_

_Lu…_

_Luke!_

Luke!

Vader’s bare head snapped upward and his eyes flew open immediately. His meditation was instantly forgotten as a nauseating wave of emotions crashed in on him through the Force.

_The boy!_

The boy was dreaming, or was he–

Not even waiting to finish his own thought, the Dark Lord slammed the controls to the mechanism assisting him with donning his mask and helmet, and as soon as he was once more encased the protective pressurized environment, he opened his hyperbaric chamber and sprang to his feet. He almost stumbled, not having used his legs in hours, but quickly recovered his balance and rushed out of his private chambers, nearly sprinting to his son’s bedroom.

Briefly steadying himself against yet another onslaught of raw feelings, he rapidly keyed in an override code and hastened into the dark room and to the boy’s bedside.

Vader took a moment to evaluate the scene before him; the boy was trashing wildly - apparently still caught in his night terrors - and the bedsheets were a mere tangle of fabric and scrawny limbs.

Hesitantly, he reached out a large, gloved hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder. Although the blonde was trying to shake him off, there was little he could do against the iron grip of Darth Vader.

“Son”, he began, his voice echoing over the mad ramblings of the boy, “wake up.”

It was only slowly that the little one’s thrashing ceased and his resistance caved. Gradually, almost hesitantly, his eyes opened and without warning, he snaked out of Vader’s grasp and pressed himself into the corner. Confusion and fear were wallowing off of him in incontrollable waves, and the Dark Lord found it hard to keep his ground.

Stopping his hand in mid-air as he recognized his son’s fearful gaze, he stood back slightly. The boy quickly drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, cold sweat glistening on his face, matting his blond hair to his head.

For moments, Vader simply stood, observing, giving him all the time he needed to regain his senses. Unconsciously, he sent out small, gentle nudges of encouragement, easing the young one’s mind without alerting him to his intrusion.

And finally, recognition dimmed in his eyes and a strong, crimson blush crept across his face.

“You were having a nightmare.” Vader stated.

The blush intensified and Luke stared at his knees.

“It’s nothing…”

  _‘What’s bothering you?’_

_‘Nothing…’_

“It is clearly not _nothing_.”

_‘Anakin, how long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?’_

“It was… just a nightmare,” Luke muttered lowly, voice barely raised above a whisper, “I have them every once in a while.”

Vader regarded him for an instant, unwanted memories battling for recognition. Could it be that the boy had inherited _that_ cursed Skywalker trait as well?

“What are they about?”

Luke hesitated, and Vader could feel his insecurities about divulging such personal information. If he urged him on now, he would certainly close off his mind completely - so he decided to wait.

And eventually, his patience was rewarded.

“About… family… and friends, sometimes… They’re always different…”

“I see”, he paused for a moment and regarded his son, “The Force will allow you to witness many things hidden to the ordinary mind. Should you experience another nightmare, I ask only that you let me know.”

Blinking, the boy nodded briefly, not quite understanding, but Vader decided that there and then was neither the right place nor the right time. Softly placing a gloved hand on his surprised son’s temple, he lulled the young mind into a daze and watched as his body drifted off into a slumber.

Awkwardly, the Dark Lord untangled the boy’s limbs and placed him under the blankets. Reaching out to the head of bleached blond hair, he was about to brush the sweaty strands from the now closed eyes when the reality of the gesture invaded his mind and he drew back hastily.

Without taking another look back, he hurried out of the room, quick steps failing miserably to catch up with the agitated rhythm of his pounding heart.


	11. Sanction

The Dark Lord came to a measured halt before the imposing set of double doors. Instead of entering the audience chamber immediately, he awarded himself a moment of composure and mental preparation. Although his master had only returned to _Imperial Center_ in the midst of the previous night, he had wasted no time and instantly called upon his Second in Command. While it was not unusual for the Emperor to command absolute and expeditious obedience, Darth Vader was well aware that the impending audience would be anything but ordinary.

He assumed his master had already gained knowledge of his son’s presence.

No. He did not _assume._ He was certain.

The Force clearly told him as much; it spoke to him in hushed whispers of warning, cautioning him against underestimating the old man. And with the whispers came a tightness of his chest, as an added weight pressing down onto his already weighty armor.

 _The boy_.

_His son._

When facing his master before, he had never been responsible for anybody but himself. It had been nothing but his own life hanging in the balance, an existence already forfeited long before, extended beyond its term, its end overdue.

Now, however, the tables had turned. Now, he not only needed to ensure that his son stayed out of harm’s way, but he also had to make sure that he himself remained alive. For should anything happen to him, his son would likely fall into his master’s hands, be trained by him, molded after his image. Vader had little doubt that Palpatine would manage to draw the boy to his side, poison him with his twisted visions and oh so entrancing ideas. The tightness in his chest increased at the mere thought and his gloved hands involuntarily balled into fists, black leather screeching in protest.

He would not allow his son to be turned into a slave. Would not allow him to be turned into what _he_ _himself_ had become.

The Dark Lord had, of course, come prepared. Before leaving his castle, he had taken several precautionary measures to ensure that, no matter what the outcome of his meeting his master might be, the boy would be safe; a considerable number of his most trusted officers had been instructed to guard his son, and, if necessary, take him off-planet in the event that he himself should not return within a set timeframe. The officers were infallibly loyal to him and could be trusted to heed his orders.

The boy, however…

The boy signified a rather _uncertain_ factor.

Vader had made sure to wake and instruct him _personally_ , yet whether the young one would do as he had been told was another matter entirely. Upon hearing of the Emperor’s summons, he had clearly perceived a wave of nervousness - and possibly even something akin to fear… fear for his _father?_ \- and judging from his son’s previous comport in emotional situations, the boy would hardly sit idly by and observe the developments around him.

He was a _Skywalker_ , after all.

Slightly lowering his mental shields, all the while careful not to invite unwanted attention, he briefly reached out beyond the sinister walls and toward that signature which had become so oddly familiar to him. The boy was still in his quarters, safe and sound, his presence in the Force bathing the otherwise cold and spartan surroundings in a radiant warmth. Only days before, Vader would have shrunk from the light, almost instinctively, as if afraid of being burned by it. Now, however, its promise of harm and suffering seemed dulled, almost lost on him. He granted himself a momentary respite and simply observed the minuscule shifts in the glimmering mesh, carrying with them small gestures, a short laugh, a moment of curiosity. His son’s emotions were astoundingly open to him, and of a fascination no phenomenon in the whole galaxy could possibly rival.

Eventually, however, he withdrew from the spectacle, almost reluctantly, and reminded himself of the task ahead of him.

With a few deliberate steps, he entered his master’s audience chamber, the doors closing noiselessly behind him. Vader slowly approached the ebony throne and knelt before it.

The feeble light of dawn peeking in through the back viewports barely managed to create a silhouette, leaving master and apprentice in a surreal twilight.

“Rise, my friend”, Palpatine’s voice finally crackled, and Vader immediately complied.

For a few moments, eyes of a sickly yellow scanned the figure in dark armor until, eventually, bony hands folded in a robed lap.

“Tell me, how have you fared in my absence?” His words came with purposive slowness.

Vader began his report with habitual precision, albeit aware that his master knew of his son’s presence and simply intended to gauge his disciple’s state and, quite possibly, level of loyalty.

“Very well”, Palpatine commented as the military report came to a close, “Yavin was a regrettable yet predictable loss. The Rebel scum is always quick to run and hide. … However…”, he hesitated and leaned forward in his chair, fixing the Dark Lord in a curious stare. “It has come to my attention that you managed to ensnare a quite peculiar specimen…”

His voice trailed off into silence as he continued to observe his subordinate appraisingly, waiting for even the slightest flicker in the Force.

Yet Vader remained composed. So he _did_ know.

“Yes, my master. He was… _lead_ to me.”

Of course their meeting had been much less accidental than the Dark Lord was willing to admit, but he needed to proceed with caution if he were to secure his son’s position.

“Yes, the Force is strong with him”, the Emperor hissed, “Maybe even stronger than it was in his _father_.”

Vader’s heart pounded strongly at the association, a small comparison reawakening a myriad of negative emotions connected to the accursed time, and Palpatine grimaced with glee before his eyes once more cast a judging look on his apprentice.

“He could destroy us.” The old man added finally, his stare unwavering.

The Emperor was assessing his loyalty, Vader knew. Even the slightest slip of tongue - or thought - could easily endanger all he had worked for.

“He is just a boy”, he interjected truthfully, “Obi Wan can no longer help him.”

“Yet the lies of the Jedi are a treacherous and stealthy poison, my friend”, his master appended “They can corrupt even the most strong-minded. It is a risk we cannot take. The son of Skywalker must never become a Jedi.”

“If he could be turned, he would become a powerful ally,” Vader suggested, cautious not to sound too hopeful, too confident. This was his opportunity, and quite possibly the only one he would receive.

The small hooded figured leaned back into the cushions, as if to contemplate the idea, countenance swallowed entirely by the shadows.

“Hm… yes, yes…”, he murmured finally from the darkness, “It is possible. The future is still in motion.”

It took the Dark Lord an immense amount of control to conceal the tiny rivulet of relief that came over him at the words. Be it ever so small, he could not allow it to be perceived by his master. Any such blunder could still jeopardize his plans.

“Bring the boy before me,” Palpatine added finally, “Then I will see what is to be done about him.”

 

Glancing over at his chrono, Luke emitted a drawn out yawn and dropped his head back into his hands. No matter how often he checked the time or how long he stared up at the ceiling, sleep wouldn’t come to him. Ever since Vader had woken him - long before sunrise, much too early for the boy’s taste - and told him of his imminent meeting with the Emperor, he couldn’t seem to get any peace of mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, his imagination would begin to paint the wildest pictures of the world behind the walls of the Imperial Palace: dark, menacing corridors, long and winding to confuse one’s sense of direction, cold and clammy, much like an underwater grave of long forgotten civilizations. And from all corners peeked leering eyes of yellow and orange, hidden in the shadows or drawn back deeply into the hoods of heavy tunics.

He couldn’t keep a peculiar sense of dread from creeping into his soul. Even if it was not him going to the Palace, even if Vader had already stood before the Emperor countless times… Luke _sensed_ that it would be different _this_ time. When Vader had come to see him before - come to lecture, _ground?_ him, in fact - his father’s usual air of control had been laced with tension and … had it been _apprehension_? To say that it worried Luke would have been an understatement. _After all, not many things could give a Sith Lord the shivers._

Promptly, he had tried to mentally reach out, to latch on to his father’s signature and calm his nerves but the Force was strangely unresponsive, clearly there but not answering to his requests as easily as he had come to expect since beginning his rudimentary training. And he had the sneaking suspicion that Vader himself had something to do with that. For some reason, he felt again like a little boy, confined to his room because the ‘grown-ups’ were having a serious talk. Some things would never change, it seemed.

With a sigh, he propped himself up on one elbow and gazed wearily through the dimmed transparisteel at the waking city beyond.

“I guess going out isn’t an option, huh?” he muttered, as much to himself as to the little astromech beside his bed.

Although it was more than tempting to try and outsmart Vader’s security measures to escape the castle and experience the outside of _Imperial Center_ , he was fairly certain that the Sith Lord would have him back in his room within minutes. The whole planet answered to his orders, after all. So breaking out wasn’t a way to go.

Well, at least not until he managed to get his hands on some useful maps and schematics.

As if reading the boy’s thoughts, R2 let out a string of reprimanding beeps and whistles, swiveling back and forth.

Luke gave a short laugh and reached over to pat the silvery dome in a calming gesture.

“Don’t worry, R2. I’m not going to try anything”, he promised, “At least not just yet.”

Another string of whistles followed, and even without speaking binary Luke knew that his little friend didn’t quite believe him.

“All right, I’m not going to leave the _castle”,_ he corrected, shrugging, “but I have to do something! I’ve barely seen anything of this place!”

 _I knew you couldn’t keep still_ , or something along those lines came in beeps and Luke laughed, finally sitting up.

“Come on, don’t be a buzzkill, R2!” he grinned and hurried to his feet. “I promise I won’t get us in too much trouble.”

Without waiting for any further reaction from his mechanical friend, the blonde had already made his way through the doors and into the corridor.

At least Vader had been sufficiently tolerant not to lock him into his room. He was probably aware that the more he restricted Luke, the greater his desire for escape would become. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had left him to his own devices either, the boy noticed quickly. Security stations that had still been vacant the night before were now manned with troopers, and Luke could instantly feel their eyes on him.

 _Perfect,_ he thought with a scowl.

Moving as casually as he could possibly manage - a gesture alone that quite likely attracted more attention than it repelled - Luke walked along the corridor of his living quarters, R2 trailing a few feet behind him. Always keeping a wary eye on his white-armored guardians - _prison guards, more likely,_ he amended - he passed the large balcony and headed straight for the next entranceway. Upon his arrival, the ebony doors slid apart and gave view of an enormous, vacant area.

“I guess this is the training hall, huh?” Luke muttered and quickly slipped in. His gaze skipped rapidly over the floor - which felt slightly _cushioned -_ and the high walls to the airy ceiling. There wasn’t much in the large room except for a number of horizontal bars, climbing poles, ropes and boxes of some kind, instruments clearly designed to hone one’s physical abilities. Absentmindedly, Luke wondered whether Vader might possibly also use a room of that kind.

Then again, was he even able to? That black suit of armor he wore looked awfully heavy and restricting, and he had never seen him take any of it off. But surely he didn’t have to wear it all the time… did he? Instantly, the scenes he had witnessed during their shared dream a few nights ago replayed before his inner eye: the broken bodylying at the banks of a river of lava, discarded like a piece of worthless trash… Limbs severed, skin charred and deformed beyond recognition, the flames eating away at him under his moans and cries of agony, expelled from a throat that had been rendered incapable of articulating anything else. The air itself in that moment had felt afire to him, had burned its way into his very lungs and brought with it a dreadful sense of shortness of breath and near-suffocation that caused stars to flicker before his eyes.

Luke shuddered to even consider what it must have felt like to the broken man before him, to… his _father_ … Robbed in an instant of all independence and flung into a world of smothering agony, all by the man he had called his brother and mentor… His anger flared momentarily at the injustice of it all. Why had Ben resorted to such drastic measures? Surely there had to have been another way of resolving the argument? One that, for him, didn’t involve the childhood of an orphan, without his father and mother? What had Ben been thinking? Had he even considered what his actions might result in for Luke?

Unknowingly, the boy balled his small hands into fists, his jaws clenched tightly, as he silently cursed the old man.

A concerned beep from behind him suddenly tore him from his dark musings.

Luke looked instantly down at his companion, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Yeah, I’m okay, R2”, he quickly soothed the astromech whose dual-colored eye flashed almost worriedly, “Just thinking. But let’s check out the other rooms.”

Anxious to escape the training hall and, with it, the gruesome images in his mind, Luke hastened back toward the doorway and out into the corridor. A sigh unconsciously escaped his lips as he slid off the weight of his own thoughts. Despite all the eyes that were on him, the air felt much lighter and his own anger dissipated quickly.

Right opposite the training hall Luke discovered what Vader had before called ‘an office’, its size, however, and the seemingly endless collection of storage devices reminded him much more of a library than of anything else. The boy was about to step up to the computer and check whether he could possibly gain access to the HoloNet - although he was sure that Vader would take every precaution to keep him from doing so - when something caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

Completely caught off guard by his master’s sudden halt, R2 unceremoniously bumped into the back of the boy’s legs, instantly shooting out a string of beeps and whistles - apologies or reprimands, Luke couldn’t be sure.

“Oh, sorry, R2”, he said quickly, barely looking at the droid, eyes strangely fixed at the back wall to his right. “It’s just…” he muttered, his voice trailing off, and hurried over to the peculiar spot, placing the palm of his left hand against the cold wall.

R2-D2 shot him a quizzical look. To the bare eye, there was nothing special, nothing deserving any kind of attention, just the bleak wall. To Luke, however, there was something about what lay _beyond_ that dark mass that was impossible to ignore. In this very spot, the Force easily penetrated the dullness, the imposed near-blinding of his abilities. Whatever lay behind that wall was certainly of great importance.

To aid his concentration, Luke closed his eyes and opened himself further to the Force, skillfully coaxed the tender rays of twilight to reveal their secrets to him, to speak to him, sing to him just as they had done before. And soon, as if they had lain in wait for somebody to confide in for many years, they readily revealed to him what he asked to know.

Through the Force came such conflicting emotions and images that he almost reeled back, almost withdrew. There were pain and hatred, anger, agitation, immeasurable loss, yet at the same time there rang with it a feeble current of desperate hope, a longing for something that had seemed impossible but now suddenly was attainable again. Tiny sounds reverberated in his mind, so minuscule they almost drowned in the pulsating hum of his own heartbeat. Faint, faraway laughter like a sweet melody, purposeful whispers of promises and oaths he could almost understand. And before his eyes, there suddenly danced a smile so warm and radiant it caused his heart to skip a beat.

As if taken aback, his hand hastily retracted from the wall and his eyes flew open. His contact with the Force now broken, he instantly regretted the gesture. Yet the memory of that smile still lingered.

“I’ve got to find out what’s back there” he began after a quiet moment, and eventually turned to his small companion. “And I think I’ll need your help.”

 

Looking over to the slender figure sitting at the next table in the small dining room of _Thila_ base, Han couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of guilt in his chest. Superficially engaged in a tactical conversation with General Rieekan, the Princess picked listlessly at her food from time to time. The deepening shadows beneath her eyes attested to a substantial lack of sleep - or rather rest of any kind - and for some odd reason, the smuggler felt somewhat responsible for the situation.

Ever since Luke had left Yavin on his little mission, she had been immensely worried about him. Without either of them noticing, the two had grown very close over the short while they had known each other; they shared not only their age but also similar fates - both having grown up in foster homes without ever knowing their real parents, and eventually even losing the people they had come to call their families. There was a peculiar bond between them, Han had noticed from the very first moment, almost as if they were brother and sister. And to have him suddenly missing disturbed her deeply.

Many times, especially during the more quiet hours of the night, she would pull out the old datapad Luke had left for her and watch his messages, always in a vain attempt of discovering the purpose for his flight or possibly even his whereabouts. Although of course she would never admit to such a habit, Han was well aware of it. Yet he had decided not to confront her about it. The stress of moving bases with the Rebel Alliance was taking such a toll on her that he could not bring himself to further burden her; especially not with the way things were standing at the moment.

The day before, Lando had once again contacted him with information about Luke; while he had assumed the involvement of the Empire - and more specifically, Darth Vader - before, the proof was definite this time. His old friend had transmitted several short clips from surveillance cameras somewhere deep in the governmental district of _Imperial Center_ , although how he had managed to get his hands on them he didn’t dare guess - and he had to admit that he dreaded the price tag they would wear.

Thinking back to the moving bluish holos, his hands instantly turned clammy. It had been Luke in those recordings, there could be not doubt. Luke exiting an Imperial shuttle, _Darth Vader’s_ personal shuttle, at the Dark Lord’s side. Yet strangely enough, there had been no handcuffs, no restraints, not even any guards flanking him. The scene had looked so utterly normal and almost _relaxed_ that it froze the blood in Han’s veins.

 _‘My informant said it didn’t look like he was holding the boy hostage’,_ he remembered Lando saying, ‘ _They were actually talking pretty normally. So either Vader has a perfect deception going or that Skywalker kid decided that the Empire writes bigger paychecks.’_

Han almost snorted in disbelief at the pure memory of it. Luke deserting to the Empire? That saintly little farmboy? He just couldn’t see it. However… The kid _was_ pretty innocent. There were too many things in the galaxy he had no idea of. And he certainly trusted much too easily. So was it really that unfeasible that Vader - _or maybe even the Emperor, who could know how far this went!_ \- had come up with some sick scheme to get the boy to believe it would be right to join them? Or could he possibly have had the idiotic idea to spy on them?

Whatever idea came to his mind, each sounded more ludicrous than the one before, and he hated to admit it, but there was currently no way for him to find out what was going on. Not by himself. As much as he would have loved to just race to _Imperial Center_ and drag the kid back by his feet - as much as he might struggle and whine - he knew he wouldn’t even make it into orbit alive.

All he had been able to do was to reactivate some old contacts back in the Core - after all, he wasn’t the only former Imperial turned ‘independent’ - as well as some of Lando’s ‘friends’ and tell them to look out for any new movement, any piece of information or possibly even the tiniest opportunity to slip in and get Luke off-planet.

Once more he gazed over at the Princess, watched the weary look in her eyes.

Was it really a burden to tell her what he knew? Or was it simple cowardice that kept him from informing her?

Inwardly bracing himself, he finally made a decision, stood from his chair and, as casually as possible, walked over to the young woman.

At his arrival, she glanced up at him curiously, momentarily pausing her conversation with the General.

“Yes, Captain Solo?”

“Your Highness, I’d like to have a word with you. In private,” he explained briefly and, to counter the confusion creeping across her face, added, “It’s about Luke.”

 

“Okay, R2, you set off the intruder alarms, and I’ll take care of the rest”, Luke instructed in a whisper.

Once something had incited the boy’s curiosity, there was hardly anything that could possibly stop him from satisfying it. It seemed like the strong Force residue he had felt before originated from Vader’s personal living quarters, a fact that did not make things particularly easy for him but at the same time only fueled his desire to find out just what he had stumbled upon earlier.

A quick examination had shown that there were six security officers to take care of: two were guarding the corridor of his quarters, another two stood on both sides of the lift and the remaining were stationed at the entrance to the neighboring hallway, which accomodated Vader’s personal quarters and thus his destination.

Thankfully, R2 had easily found his way into the lower levels of the surveillance systems. While it wouldn’t be enough to turn off any of the holocams or alarms, it was certainly sufficient to _set off_ alarms all over the building. To make sure no extra stormtroopers would join the situation, however, they had decided to localize the alarm to the third corridor on the level, according to schematics holding another balcony, several storage rooms, an auxiliary communications suite and a small meeting room. The balcony seemed like a safe bet for a fictional intruder’s point of entrance, Luke surmised. If all went according to plan, it should take three of the six guards off his hands, at least. One would immediately check on his room, that he had - for all intents and purposes - just returned to. At least so they believed, for he had, through the help of R2, managed to sneak back into the training hall. A much better vantage point. _Thank the Force for ventilation shafts!_

That left another two.

At that point, R2 would set off another alarm at the second balcony in his corridor. One of the guards - clearly not the one standing in front of his own room - would go to check on it.

As for the last one… Well, he would take care of him somehow.

And if they came to check on him, they would find his room locked from the inside, and a security camera showing him lying on his bed trying desperately to sleep. The scene was, of course, already several minutes old, but it hadn’t been a problem for R2 to splice the image back into the system.

Luke nodded to himself with a satisfied grin. He had to admit he was rather proud of his plan. True, one might say it was a little _too much_ , that he should rather go back to his room and not worry about it instead of getting into trouble over such a trivial matter.

Yet with a Skywalker, there was no ‘thinking ahead’.

If he felt like doing something, he did it. He always had, and likely always would.

Taking a deep breath, Luke peeked out into the corridor, hiding himself deep in the entranceway so he would not be discovered prematurely and began whispering a short countdown.

“2… 1… Now, R2!” he breathed excitedly.

And surely, within split seconds, a deafening wail rose into the air and Luke had to resist the urge of clasping his hands over his ears and abandoning his plan. He waited several seconds and peeked out once more.

_Perfect, three ‘troopers gone. Two to go…_

However, he couldn’t waste any time. If he waited for too long, they would just see through his plan and his chance would be gone.

“Second alarm, R2,” he murmured in concentration, “NOW!”

Within split seconds, the first noise was joined by another, only increasing the volume, and Luke cringed. He’d had no idea that those things were _that_ loud!

Promptly, hurried shuffling of footsteps and armor rang from the corridor and Luke risked a careful glance.

Stormtrooper no. 5 was making his way to the balcony.

Now it was his turn.

As stealthily as possible - ever since his childhood he’d been exceptional at sneaking away - he crept out of the training hall, into the corridor and hurried toward the turbolift, pressing his back against the wall.

And there he was. The last ‘trooper.

Sneaking past was clearly not an option, and he didn’t feel much like turning back around. Yet in that very moment, he had an idea. It might have been a risky one, he admitted, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it would work, but what was there to lose? If it didn’t work, he’d be caught just as well as if he stayed there.

Slowly, he inched along the wall until he was almost at the turbolift, barely 2 meters away from the officer in white armor. He then gathered what courage he had and stepped out into the corridor, right into the other’s line of vision.

It didn’t take the stormtrooper long to notice him.

“What…?” he began.

In a moment of self-confidence, Luke briefly flicked his hand.

“You didn’t see anyone”, he muttered quietly.

The white helmet stared back at him unwaveringly.

For a terrifying moment, Luke thought his idea had backfired. His heart plummeted way past his knees as a feeling of certain doom overcame him. _Had he done something wrong? Was he possibly not strong enough for this technique yet? Or had Vader somehow made them immune, well expecting him to attempt something like this?_

His eyes were already shifting left and right in anxiety, looking for a way out - any way - when suddenly…

“I didn’t see anyone,” the stormtrooper echoed.

Luke stood flabbergasted for a moment, blinking incredulously at the man before him, until his mind jumped back into motion and he hurried off, legs instinctively guided by the Force - _or what it his flight reflex?_

Once he had entered the room, he sank back against the wall, exhaling deeply, and a triumphant grin arched the corners of his lips upwards.

_He’d done it! He had really done it! He’d used a Jedi Mindtrick! And without anyone teaching him, to boot! He would have to tell his father, he…_

_No,_ he stopped himself suddenly. _That might not be such a great idea._

Finally reminding himself of what had brought him here, Luke opened his eyes to the sight before him. He was currently in some sort of ante-chamber. There was a large holoprojector set into the floor, and Luke could only stare in amazement as he pictured how enormous its holos must be. He’d _love_ watching a podrace on one of those!

Yet he shook his head quickly. That wasn’t what he’d come for. The Force was clearly directing him to something else.

Beyond the projector was a second door, leading into further rooms - and from what his directional sense was telling him - into the general area where his own ‘office’ was situated. Hastily, his curiosity coming to new life, he slid through the door and entered the room beyond.

For a moment, Luke stood blinking, not quite sure what to make of what he was seeing. He was now in an almost circular room. The walls were lined with holovids, storage compartments and powerlines; yet what really caught his attention was the strange machinery occupying the center - and as well largest portion - of the room. It was made of black durasteel on the outside, the interior, however, was white. Somehow it reminded Luke of the opened jaw of a Krayt dragon with its glistening teeth, waiting patiently for its next victim to approach it, unsuspecting.

Carefully, he stepped closer and stared in wonder at the apparatus, wary not to touch anything lest he should break it.

There was some sort of cushioned seat in the center of the opened globe, surrounded by various consoles, only some of which Luke could even hope to recognize. A gaze upward revealed a peculiar, crane-line mechanism. Clearly this was meant for somebody - in this case Vader - to sit in, but that was about all Luke could say for certain.

Still, this wasn’t what he had felt from the other side, was it?

Luke shook his head. No, certainly not.

His gaze jumped around searchingly until something small caught his eyes.

A tiny, handheld holoprojector rested on the cushions of the seat, slid almost out of view into the gap between the seat and backrest.

_Yes, this was it, he could sense it._

Luke’s fingers greedily shot out to the small object but were brutally stopped in mid-air.

“I do not recall giving you permission to enter my private quarters.” The strong baritone resounded.

 _Oh Sith…_ he cursed, instantly noticing the bitter irony of the common cuss-word, and decided to simply freeze. _Maybe Vader’s vision relied on motion, and if he just kept still enough, his father wouldn’t perceive him…_

_Yeah right…_

“What do you think you are doing here?” Vader commanded.

He knew he’d have to turn around sooner or later, but in that very moment, he would prefer it to be rather later than sooner.

Something akin to a roar escaped Vader’s throat, and Luke instantly knew he was in for trouble.

“I do not like to repeat myself,” he rumbled and placed a heavy, gloved hand on the boy’s small shoulder, “Answer me!”

Luke instinctively turned around and shrank away from the touch, a small shimmer of wariness and possibly even fear flickering in his eyes.

The Dark Lord eyed him carefully and crossed his arms in front of his massive chest. It was obvious that he was still expecting an answer.

“I…”, Luke began hesitantly, trying to judge his father’s mood before giving away too much information. Then again, if he lied, wouldn’t he be able to tell anyway? He gave a short sigh and let his gaze drop to the floor. “I felt something from around here, through the Force. So I came to investigate.”

There was a long moment of silence, and he could feel his father’s stare still on him, fixing him, probing his mind. He was in trouble already, Luke knew, and if he resisted now, it certainly wouldn’t improve his standing.

He was not sure what he had been expecting when he again heard his father’s mechanical voice, but it definitely not the words that eventually echoed through the small room.

“You will never again enter my private quarters without my explicit permission. Is that clear?”

Luke’s head shot up to stare at the dark figure before him, blinking in stupefied disbelief.

“Y…yes,” he managed to stammer.

“Very well”, Vader answered with a brief nod and, planting a firm hand on the smaller one’s shoulder, guided him out of the circular chamber, past the holoprojector and out into the hallway.

They walked in tense silence until curiosity forced Luke to once more look back down the corridor toward that strange room and its even stranger contents.

“What was that room though?” he decided to try his luck, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He was not sure if he had actually expected an answer so it slightly surprised him when one came.

“It is a hyperbaric chamber”, Vader stated simply, “I use it for meditation.”

“What’re all the systems for, then?” Luke frowned, gazing up at the taller man at his side, “That mechanical arm, and the pressurizers?”

Vader glanced down at the boy briefly, as if considering whether he should be divulging that particular piece of information or not, but apparently decided it could not possibly do any harm if he satisfied his curiosity.

“The capsule’s mechanisms create a very specific atmosphere that allows me to breathe without my respirator”, he explained as simply as possible, “The… _arm,_ as you call it, assists in removing my helmet and mask.”

“Oh…” Luke muttered simply, almost stunned into silence. So his father _really_ couldn’t live without the suit, or at least the respirator it housed… A strange gloom suddenly crept over him at the realization, and he stared down at his boots in discomfort.

Eventually, it was Darth Vader, however, who broke the silence.

“How did you manage to escape my officers?” he asked, and Luke thought he sounded almost curious.

The boy considered for a moment. _Would it be okay to tell him? Wouldn’t it get him into even more trouble? Then again, what could his father possibly do to him?_

Deciding to simply answer the question - after all Vader had answered _his_ as well, hadn’t he? - he recounted the tactics R2 and he had used to elude the stormtroopers. When he was finished, he could almost see a raised eyebrow through the ebony helmet.

“Quite impressive”, Vader conceded, “It does, however, beg a question. How did you intend to return to your room?”

“I–“, Luke began and suddenly stopped at the realization, “I hadn’t thought of that…”

“That seems to be a common pattern in your actions.”

Vader seemed almost amused.

Luke was _not_.

“I do, however, expect you to be more considerate when you meet my master.”

“You mean, the Emperor wants to see me?” Luke retorted, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, my master wishes to assess your potential personally,” Vader answered shortly, “Tomorrow I will bring you to him. He will then decide whether you are to be trained.”

Luke came to a complete halt, yet Vader only followed suit a moment later, only half turning toward his son.

“What if he decides that I shouldn’t be trained?” he questioned, clearly distraught by the influence the Emperor seemed to be having on his fate.

The Dark Lord remained calm, and turned to resume his walk.

“That, my son,” he stated plainly, “is not an option.”

 

With a weary sigh, Vader closed his eyes once more. That particular night, it seemed, calm eluded him. He had been slipping in and out of meditation for hours now, and his patience was beginning to wear very thin. He clearly needed some rest for the day ahead; much depended on the Emperor’s appraisal of his son’s potential. Too much.

Certainly, he himself had not the slightest doubt of the promise his young son showed. His control of the Force was excellent, considering the limited training he had received so far, and his abilities were developing at an astonishing rate. The hint of a satisfied - maybe even proud? - smile crossed his features as he remembered the feat the boy had accomplished earlier that day. When he had found him in his private quarters, Vader had been furious, of course, and alarmed, unsure of his son’s intentions. Clearly, however, the boy had come only out of curiosity. And he had managed quite an operation to satisfy it. Most importantly, he seemed to have _instinctively_  used the Force for support, had even successfully applied a Mind Trick to escape discovery. It was truly remarkable. The boy seemed to be much stronger than he could have hoped for.

Of course his plan had not been thought through to the end - a Skywalker’s aim was, after all, only to satisfy his wishes. Whatever came afterwards usually amounted to nothing more than improvisation.

‘ _I don’t mind a little improvising, though,’_ a voice suddenly sounded in his mind, _‘it keeps things interesting.’_

 _Luke_.

Somehow, the boy had found his way into his meditation. He _really_ needed to remember to strengthen his mental shields when the young one was near.

‘I was under the impression that you had gone to bed.’

 _‘I tried’,_ the voice answered with an exasperated sigh, _‘But my mind just won’t be quiet. It does that sometimes.’_

Vader was surprised at the boy’s openness, but found he had to agree. His own mind often fell to the flaw of being active at quite the wrong time. Another Skywalker curse, possibly.

_‘Do you always do this? I mean, meditate instead of sleeping?’_

_‘_ No. Not always. It is quite frequent, however.’

Somehow, it seemed, the boy’s readiness to talk was affecting him. Maybe it was the fact that his meditation was lowering his mental barriers, maybe it was the lack of a physical presence. Yet whatever the reason might have been, it felt much more comfortable, much more _natural_ than Vader would have been willing to admit.

_‘You know, when I was little, whenever I couldn’t sleep, my Aunt Beru would tell me stories. She was pretty good at telling stories about pilots and space pirates; but of course Uncle Owen couldn’t know, he wouldn’t have those kinds of things,’_

A wave of nostalgia, tightly laced with sadness, washed through their connection. The boy still missed his foster parents deeply, that much was obvious, and strangely he understood. Understood far too well. Yet at the same time, a deep jealousy welled up inside of him. Luke was, after all, _his_ son. _He_ should have raised him, taught him… Kenobi had had no right to hide the boy from him. His _own_ flesh and blood!

Exercising restraint, he suppressed the feeling when, at a different time, he would have cherished it. Yet there was no telling what it would do to the boy if he happened to tap into it. He could not afford to risk throwing him into further emotional turmoil. Not with what lay ahead.

 _‘But when I got older’,_ Luke continued, apparently unaware of his father’s reaction, _‘I’d sneak out into the garage and go for a quick ride… I guess that isn’t really an option right now, is it?’_ he tried.

Vader caught himself snorting in response. A Skywalker indeed.

‘I detect a peculiar tendency to escape’, he chose to comment, if not quite seriously ‘I believe it might be necessary to reevaluate current security protocol.’

A strong sense of indignation followed the statement and Vader could almost see the exasperated look of those deep blue eyes.

‘I am pleased that you seem to be in high spirits,’ he continued, ‘It might prove beneficial for the task ahead.’

A short silence followed, and had they not been connected through the Force, enabling Vader to perceive his son’s every thought and sentiment, he would have believed the boy to have finally fallen asleep. What followed, however, was a much softer voice, much less sure of itself, much more nervous.

_‘So what if I don’t meet his standards? What if he decides I can’t be trained?’_

The silence returned briefly and Vader contemplated what should be said. This was not the kind of interaction he was used to.

A Sith Lord did not have to deal with scared children. A Sith Lord never had to calm anybody’s mind.

A Sith Lord served to _inspire_ fear, not _repress_ it.

‘Do not concern yourself with eventualities, my son’, he answered finally. ‘It was the will of the Force which lead you to me. What has finally been reunited shall not be divided again.’

It was certainly not the most… _fatherly_ thing to say, and not quite befitting a Sith Lord, either, yet it seemed neither role suited him perfectly anymore.

After a little while, he felt hesitant agreement coming over his son. The boy believed him, or at least he wanted to - that much Vader could perceive - but despite it all, he had not been able to completely soothe him, to dispel even the last shreds of apprehension persistently clinging to the young one’s mind.

And then, for the shortest moment, he wondered what _she_ would have said.


	12. Initiation

For the second time in just a little over a standard day, Darth Vader was approaching the Emperor’s private throne room on Imperial Center. A rather unusual frequency for the more quiet days of Imperial politics - yet then again that fact alone was by far the smallest abnormality.

“Stop squirming”, his voice rang, its volume minutely controlled by the suit’s vocabulator, but its tone somewhat harsher than intended.

Instantly, the shoulders of the young man walking to his right tensed - a rather remarkable feat considering the tension already present in the lanky body. The closer the unlikely pair had come to their destination, the more nervous traits his son seemed to show. Initially, only the Force had given him away, its fabric around him slightly less radiant, less energetic. Soon, however, a frown had developed on his forehead and now he was absent-mindedly gnawing on his lower lip.

“The Emperor will not be impressed if you choose to collapse at his feet.”

Wordlessly, the boy shot him a short glare.

_‘As if I would do something like that.’_

Alarmed by the initiation of silent communication, Vader immediately came to a halt and pointed an outstretched index finger at the boy. Slightly startled, the latter stopped.

“When we are in my master’s presence, do not, under any circumstances, attempt communication through the Force. Do you understand?”

Luke blinked in surprise.

“Well, yes, but why? I mean–“ he began but was quickly interrupted.

“You will understand soon enough. Just remember to strengthen your mental shields as I have shown you.”

That said, Vader sat back into motion and continued down the corridor, a puzzled Luke almost jogging to keep up with his father’s speed. Although the Dark Lord was aware that dozens of questions were racing through his son’s mind, he currently deemed it best not to answer them. The boy knew everything he needed to know for the moment; he himself had taken the time to instruct him. And while he had spent only few words on actual proper conduct in the Imperial court, he had made sure that his son knew everything necessary to ensure a successful outcome of the impending meeting. Too much rested on this confrontation for it to be taken lightly.

After a short, brisk walk, the immense double doors of the entrance to the throne room came into view and the pair slowed.

Anticipation was rolling off the boy in waves now, and even Vader could hardly claim to be unaffected. How strangely different that morning was from any other time he had gone to see his master. It was the same walk, the same officers, the same security protocols, and yet with just one small addition, everything appeared somehow different. Less predictable, less safe. Just one small factor had changed so much.

Eventually, they reached the entrance and came to a halt. Although having been told to abstinate, Vader caught his son again biting his lower lip while his eyes were focusing nervously on the exquisite wooden doors.

Inwardly, the Sith repressed a sigh, then turned to his son.

“Do not doubt yourself”, he encouraged oddly, gaining his son’s attention, “Remember what I have taught you and all will be well.”

Luke let out a short snort.

“Easier said than done”, he muttered under his breath.

Yet Vader had little time to comment on his son’s remark, for the doors were already opening, indicating that the Emperor was aware of their presence and had no intention of stalling any longer.

Steeling himself inwardly, Vader stepped through the large opening, his son right at his side.

Although it was now far later in the day than when his previous visit had taken place, the chamber was only dimly illuminated through the windows. It seemed twilight permanently had taken up residence in these once lush rooms.

Leading the boy toward the stairs ascending to the dais in the back of the large room, the Dark Lord knelt and slightly tilted his head forward in a show of submission. Although he dimly noticed his son’s surprise at the gesture, he chose to disregard it.

It was time.

“I bring Skywalker, my Master,” he stated matter-of-factly, “As you requested.”

 

 

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself inwardly, stepping forward.

 _How embarrassing would it be if he_ really _were to stumble over his shaky legs right now?_ Shaking his head, Luke dispelled the thought from his mind and hurried over the threshold after his father.

Instantly, a strange notion of oppression overcame him and his eyes narrowed slightly, cautiously, in reflex. Something seemed to be reminding him to keep his guard up.

His father?

The Force, maybe?

Who- or whatever the source, Luke definitely understood the hint.

Even though it was hardly easy to match Vader’s pace, Luke could not help but let his eyes wander around the room. In some way, it was everything he had expected it to be: barely lit and entirely colored in polished blacks and dark greys, a ceiling so high it was almost out of view and acoustics so well conceived that each of his father’s determined footsteps sent a short pain to his eardrums. Toward the end of the room was a rather short but steep staircase leading up to the central piece of the room: the dais. And although it was backlit by a large circular window - the patterning of which strongly reminded him of what he had seen in the viewports of TIEs - it was easily the _darkest_ spot in the entire room.

It _felt_ dark.

The kind of dark that no light could ever penetrate.

The kind of dark that swallowed everything.

Luke felt his hands turn clammy. He didn’t like this one single bit.

Unfortunately, there was not much he could do; so all he could try was to get it over with quickly. The sooner he could leave, the better.

Within a few steps, they had crossed the room and reached the stairs, and Luke was about to start making his way up when his father suddenly stopped and…

_knelt down!_

Aware that he was gaping but unable to help himself, Luke felt entirely taken aback by the image. There was his father… _Darth Vader,_ Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, Second in Command of the Galactic Empire, nightmare-inducing, merciless warrior who had grown men cowering in fear by nothing but his presence, _kneeling down_!

Of course he was aware that Vader still answered to the Emperor - after all, he was _Second_ in Command - but it still wouldn’t register in his mind. To him, he had always been _the_ authority, the one to make the final judgement and execute the sentence. It just seemed completely odd to see him in a state of submission.

“I bring Skywalker, my Master”, he heard the mechanical rumble of his father’s voice echoing through the room, “As you requested.”

Within split seconds the boy realized that this meant the that Emperor was already present and briefly wondered whether he should follow his father’s example and kneel down, but a voice from the dais interrupted his thoughts easily.

“Yes, yes…” the voice crackled with a deliberate slowness that made Luke’s skin crawl. There was something in its tone that was at the same time so repulsive but somehow oddly smooth and calming.

The boy strained his eyes to peer past the darkness, from where the voice was, but was unable to make out anything.

“You may rise, Lord Vader,” the voice came again, and his father instantly complied. In that very moment Luke ached to reach out through the Force, to discover what his father might be feeling when on the receiving end of orders. Just how strong was Vader’s loyalty toward the Emperor? Would he really do _everything_ he was told?

For a short moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him, crushing him with pictures of himself pierced by his father’s crimson blade, his body slumping to the floor like a discarded ragdoll that no longer provided enough enjoyment to its owner.

He took a deep, silent breath to chase away the images and return to the moment.

No.

It would never happen. He _was_ his father.

And he had been a good man once. A Jedi… for all it was worth.

Luke would make him remember.

Side by side, father and son stood in silence. Instinctively, Luke knew that he was under the Emperor’s scrutiny, could almost feel his eyes on him. He breathed flatly, attempting to assume an image of collectedness and control - even though likely failing miserably.

“A Skywalker indeed….”

The odd fragment broke the silence, and a low rustling suggested movement on the dais.

“Not unlike his father in his more foolish days.”

_‘Not unlike his father’?_

The Emperor was no doubt speaking of Anakin Skywalker rather than Darth Vader in that moment, that much Luke was sure of. So he had already known his father _before_ the latter had turned? He had known him when he was still a _Jedi_? How?

And again he was reminded just how little he actually knew about his own father…

Although currently not connected through the Force, Luke could suddenly sense his father’s body stiffening.

“He needs guidance,” his father retorted, apparently in his son’s defense.

“That he does,” a small chuckle escaped the unseen throat. “But the guidance you are able to supply?”

Vader tilted his head slightly downwards.

“I am aware of my own… _shortcomings,_ Master. But I am confident that I can instruct the boy to your satisfaction.”

Luke gritted his teeth.

His father was aware that he _was_ _there,_ right? That he could hear him? He hated to be excluded from matters that involved, first and foremost, himself. All his life, others had thought they knew what was best for him - didn’t he get a say in it, too?

Another rustling, larger this time, came from atop the dais.

“Leave us, Lord Vader,” the voice commanded strongly.

Luke almost froze at the words.

Alone with the Emperor, without any support. _What if he’d placed half a battalion of Imperial guards out of view, or worse, assassins, just waiting for his command to get rid off him once and for all?_ Sure, he didn’t see, didn’t _sense_ anybody beside himself, his father and the Emperor, but then again, his command of the Force was anything but expert yet.

He definitely did not like the way things were going…

Likely sharing his fears - and thus even increasing Luke’s - Vader complied only reluctantly. With a slight pressure of unease in his chest, he watched as Vader made his way back to the entrance and eventually vanished from sight.

Hesitantly, he turned back toward the throne.

“You need not be afraid, son,” the Emperor spoke again from the darkness, “I have no intentions of harming you.”

“I’m not afraid,” Luke suddenly heard himself retort defiantly.

_Where had that come from?_

Another amused chuckle.

“A brave one, aren’t you? Much like your father, indeed.”

Again that allusion to his father’s past.

Again a pang of longing in his chest.

Once more, the sounds of movement rang down from the dais. More footsteps this time.

Curiously, Luke peered at the darkness, and then, finally he saw something.

Slowly, unhurriedly, a pale, gnarled hand moved from the shadows, gripping some sort of handle.

 _A walking stick_ , Luke realized surprisedly.

The figure was clad in robes of dark blues and black, and the boy instantly understood how he had been able to vanish so completely in the darkness. Even from below, the outline seemed rather small, much less impressive than he would have expected, much less intimidating.

Descending a few steps toward the boy, a face eventually appeared from below the hood which had kept it in shadows before, and it took Luke a significant amount of self control not to let his shock show.

Those eyes…

The very first thing he saw were his eyes, two glowing orbs of a sickly yellow that looked anything but humanoid. Then again, neither did much of the rest of his face; pale, almost bluish skin covered a mass of strange lumps and odd protrusions. It looked battered and broken, as if beaten half to death and never really healed.

As if reading his thoughts, thin lips formed into a bitter smile.

“There is no need of hiding your repulsion, son,” the voice commented again, and Luke almost thought he could hear an edge of sadness laced into it, “Power attracts envy, and envy can turn the most sensible of men into enemies.”

So somebody _had_ done that to him? Had made him look like that? Unconsciously, Luke flexed his right hand. His enemies, as he called them, had certainly had their reasons, but… did anybody deserve to suffer and be mutilated like that?

His mind instantly jumped to lava ridden dreamscapes, the broken body that had once been his father smoldering in the hot sands, moaning in agony.

_‘You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!’_

Luke felt the rage pounding through his veins, his own heart hammering against his chest at the injustice of it all.

_Had they been enemies, too?_

_Had envy been the reason?_

_Was that why he had never known a family?_

Consciously, Luke was aware that he was being unreasonable, making judgements when he hardly had all the fact, but he could care less.

He was angry, and he felt he had every right to be.

So he held onto it a little longer, savoring the misery, the pain, the hatred… and the strength they gave him.

Unnoticed by Luke, the Emperor’s mouth contorted into a gleeful grin.

 

 

Outside the throne room, Vader fought the urge to pace up and down the corridor.  Of course he had anticipated his master’s wish to speak to his son alone.

Of course it was perfectly reasonable he would want to see how the boy behaved when not under his supervision.

Of course he wanted to gauge his aptitude for the Force.

And yet Vader did not like it in the least.

The boy was too young, defiant, reckless, impulsive and _always_ spoke his mind. Especially when he should rather _not_.

A Skywalker if ever there had been one…

His immense strength in the Force was certainly undeniable and would likely please the Emperor. If trained properly, the boy could easily become an enormous asset, wielding a power far surpassing that of any other Force sensitives they had come across in the years since the Purges.

Possibly even the Emperor.

The leather of Vader’s gloves screamed in protest as he balled his hands into fists.

If the Emperor were to realize Luke’s _full_ potential, there was the possibility that he deemed the boy too great of a threat to let him be instructed.

_To let him live…_

Vader closed his eyes below the mask and steadied his quickening breathing. He knew there was no use in torturing himself with eventualities, yet the thoughts came uninvited, forcing the heart in his battered chest into a faster rhythm, straining the iron lung that supplied what his body no longer could procure by itself. The charred skin below layers of leather and plasteel felt cold and numb, an almost welcome change from the usual burning and tearing of the scarred tissue.

Cautiously, he opened himself further to the Force and instantly found his son’s signature. He could feel anger radiating from him, yet not about the situation, rather something older, some past injustice that had somehow been called upon again. It mingled with pain and hatred, emotions bearing the same traces and scars he had perceived from the boy before. The fabric of the Force was dark and ripe, swirling thickly around his son, charged almost electrically.

And for once, whether consciously or not, he felt his son holding on to it, almost _enjoying_ it.

Vader sipped from the boy’s emotions, drank in the untainted strength that came to him so easily.

A strength that he had always craved.

_‘You’re not all-powerful, Ani.’_

_‘Well I should be. Someday I will be. I will be the most powerful Jedi ever.’_

With a grim smile, Vader drove the phantom voices from his mind.

She had been right.

 

 

“The Force truly is strong with you, son,” the Emperor’s words tore Luke from his contemplation. “Possibly even stronger than … _your father_ assumed.”

It took Luke a few moments to process the words, and he eventually frowned.

_How did he…_

“How do you…?” he began, instantly reprimanding himself that the sentence had not even lived up to its label.

The grin on the old man’s face spread and resting both hands on the walking stick, he leaned forward slightly.

“Why, young Skywalker, do you think it is that your father addresses me as ‘master’?”

Luke blinked once, twice, waiting for his mind to register the statement behind the pretense of a question. When it finally did, he felt as if a Wookiee had knocked the wind out of him.

He groaned. How could he have been so blind? He should have noticed it right away. The old man’s presence was overwhelming, smothering, _dark_. All of a sudden, it was _everywhere_.

No. Not all of a sudden. It had been all along.

The darkness.

The complete and utter blackness…

“Do not judge yourself too harshly, son,” the Emperor spoke again, the grin melting down into a slight upward curvature. “You may have the potential, but yet you lack the proper training. Have you ever been instructed?”

Luke considered his answer for a moment, remembering what his father had advised him tosay _._

“Ben showed me how to use a lightsaber, but that’s all we… had time for.”

 _Nicely put_ , Luke congratulated himself, _and not quite a lie, either._

“Yes…” the drawn answer came and yellow eyes traveled to Luke’s right hand. _“_ I have been informed of Kenobi’s involvement. … As well as of the commotion you caused aboard Lord Vader’s flagship a short while ago.”

His attempted flight… Of course he remembered, and his glance briefly dropped to his right hand, a sudden tingling running across the synthskin.

“I was… confused,” he justified himself honestly, “and angry.”

“Yes, I suppose you were,” the Emperor retorted and took a step down the stairs, closer to Luke, “But how am I to know it won’t happen again? You will be confused, and you _will_ be angry.”

Luke had seen the question coming from klicks away. And he knew the answer without having to think about it for even a second.

“It won’t,” he stated with a steady voice, “My place is at my father’s side.”

“Oh?” the Emperor raised a non-existent eyebrow in amusement. “Your father? Anakin Skywalker, the man who was your father, died before you were even born, son. He no longer exists. Your loyalties lie with a dead man.”

For whatever reason, Luke felt a sudden defiance flare up inside of himself. His father was anything but dead, of that much he was certain.

“He may have changed, and maybe he isn’t Anakin Skywalker anymore, but he’s still my father, my only family.”

In a different moment, Luke might have winced at just how much he had just sounded like a sappy holo-greeting card, but right then, he simply said what he felt like saying - which, he was aware, may not always be the best thing to do.

“Family…,” the Emperor echoed, studying the boy’s face closely, “Do not the Jedi teach that affection is forbidden?”

Once more, a sharp pain shot through his chest. Betrayal and lies. And all because they thought they knew what was best for him. They always did.

“I’m no Jedi…” he stated truthfully, past the growing lump in his throat and averted his gaze from the man, staring intently at the spot to his right.

“Is that so?” he heard the voice crackle in amusement again, “Then perhaps all is not yet lost.”

 

 

 

Although it had been hours since her short conversation with Solo, Leia was still beside herself with anger - which might have been for the better, for had she not had the chance to be mad at the smuggler, she likely would have gone insane with worry for Luke.

Barely a day ago, Han had casually walked up to her in the mess hall and informed her that he needed to talk to her. About Luke.

_“What is it? Is something wrong with him? Did you hear from him?” she blurted, almost too eagerly. But in that very moment she could care less._

_She stared at the smuggler, reading his face for any kind of information. Yet what she saw, the unusually serious look, a frown and several wrinkles he hadn’t sported days before, did nothing to make her feel better._

_“I’d really prefer to speak somewhere a little more private, your Highness.”_

 

Of course aching for any news of Luke, his whereabouts and, hopefully, wellbeing, she had complied and the unlikely pair had retreated into a vacant conference room off the mess hall. There, she had seen the images for the first time - images that had not left her mind since.

 

_The princess’s eyes widened in disbelief as she inched closer to the small holoprojector on the table and watched the scene unfold before here. Yes, undoubtedly, that was Luke…_

_Luke stepping off the boarding ramp of an Imperial shuttle, by its markings Darth Vader’s shuttle, that very Sith Lord walking right beside him._

_A hostage situation? Impending interrogation?_

_No. There were no guards. In fact, Luke wasn’t even wearing restraints, she noticed, straining her eyes._

_What in the Worlds?_

_The holo flickered briefly as the camera panned to the right, following the strange procession that sent a chill down Leia’s spine._

_Luke, for one, seemed perfectly content with the situation, turning his head left and right to look at his surroundings - Imperial City, Leia recognized instantly - apparently even attempting to talk with that monster, as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy!_

_The holo flickered once more and eventually faded._

_“That’s all I got,” Han commented in a strange tone._

_Leia still stared at the projector even though the image was long gone._

_“I don’t understand this…”_

_“Well, I can’t say I can make much sense of this either,” he shrugged, “I’ve watched it a couple of times already, but it’s still as out of place as a skinny Hutt.”_

_“Are you sure it hasn’t been edited? Luke_ has _enemies, after all.” the Princess tried hopefully after a moment of silence._

_Yet Han only shook his head._

_“Wish it was. Lando says the source is reliable. Direct feed, too. Not all that cheap, either…”_

_Leia glared at him instantly._

_“I don’t care if it cost you Empress Teta’s Crown Jewels! I want to know what is going on here! I refuse to believe that Luke is willingly accompanying Darth Vader to Imperial Center!”_

_“Calm down, Princess!” Han tried, “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions now.”_

_She eyed him suspiciously. Her intuition told her that something was off about the smuggler. Luke was a good friend to him, almost like a little brother… How could he remain so calm seeing what she had seen?_

_Then it finally dawned on her._

_“You knew, didn’t you?” she hissed, glaring at him dangerously. “You already knew Luke was with Vader.”_

_Han sighed and leaned back against the wall._

_“I had some friends keep an eye out for him. There were rumors Vader picked up a Rebel prisoner on Tatooine. Caused an incident on the flagship, too; Admiral by the name Ozzel was charged with it. But never anything definitive.”_

_Leia felt she could not believe her ears. Oh, that man’s audacity!_

_“Nothing definitive?” she practically screeched at him, “Luke is a Rebel, Luke’s homeworld is Tatooine so there is a chance he may have been there, and Luke is certainly reckless enough to cause commotion on an Imperial flagship! What more do you need for it to be definitive? An ISB statement signed by Vader himself? You should have told me!”_

 

And that he should have. Even now she stood by her words, harsh as they had been. Solo had had no right to hide such vital information from her, not when she could have done something!

Not when she desperately needed to know…

With a sigh, she put the latest scouting report down and drummed her fingers on the smooth surface of the conference table. She was simply in no state of mind to do any serious work, as much as she needed to. Those images had embedded themselves so deeply in the back of her mind that she could not stop thinking about them.

Just what was going on?

What was Luke doing?

No matter how often she rolled it over in her mind, none of this was making any sense to her. Which troubled her deeply.

And yet there had to be something she could do. If someone like Han could acquire holos of Lord Vader’s private shuttle, she, a former member of the recently dissolved Imperial Senate, had to be able to pull a few strings herself, right? True, her own privileges no longer counted for anything due to her involvement with the  Rebel Alliance.

Still… she had friends on Imperial Center, ones that could be trusted. Ones with many more privileges than she had ever had…

 

“The boy is indeed powerful, Lord Vader”, the Emperor conceded, leaning forward in his throne, “I can sense a great affinity for the Force.”

His words trailed off deliberately, leaving father and son in silence. To his right, Vader clearly perceived his son’s apprehension. Although visibly rather calm and collected, his presence in the Force gave quite a different image. In other circumstances, Vader would possibly have sent quiet support to the boy to assure he compose himself and refrain from rash words or actions. But the current situation would not permit it.

“He seems, however, to have fallen victim to some misconceptions,” the crackling continued, “and it remains to be seen if those can be… _corrected_.”

Vader slightly bowed his head in response, deciding to comment before Luke would answer himself.

“He is yet but a boy, Master. He will… _learn_.”

He felt his son tense at the statement, yet was glad he chose to refrain from amending it with his own views.

“He will indeed”, the old man admitted and paused, studying the petitioners before him intently. “The boy has great potential, however, and it would simply be a waste not to make use of it.” Another short pause and he focused on Luke, probing the boy’s eyes. “You will begin his training without delay.”

A small wave of relief washed over the Sith Lord and he clearly felt the same from his son who gave him a short, sideways look - yet he chose to suppress the notion, keep it from being detected lest it should work to their disadvantage.

“Yes, my Master.”

“I expect, however,” the Emperor amended promptly, “to be informed of his progress regularly and will inspect the boy, whenever _I_ see fit.”

Another brief pause and Vader noticed the frail figure resting back against the cushions. He knew his master would not willingly abandon control. Ultimately, it was he who had the last say.

“Should I find that he poses a threat to us, be advised I will not wait to take action.”

Again, Vader bowed briefly. He would see to it that such intervention would not transpire. The boy was his last chance.

“Yes, my Master.”

 

“That went well… I think,” Luke stated, frowning, as they walked down the corridors leading out of the _Imperial Palace_ back to his father’s castle. He could not wait to get as far from that strange, dark place as he possibly could. And especially from that man. Suddenly it wasn’t all that difficult to keep up with his father’s long strides.

“All went as was to be expected,” his father amended neutrally, as if altogether unaffected  by the situation.

But Luke knew better. He had clearly felt his father’s emotions; Even without reaching out to him, they had been more than obvious to him through the Force.

The Force…

“Why didn’t you tell me that the Emperor is a Sith?” he asked bluntly, gazing up at his father.

The latter simply kept walking and took his time to answer.

“You were not supposed to know. You were not supposed to be trained, hence you should not have been able to notice.”

“Oh…” Luke exhaled almost sheepishly. Had he given himself away? Hastily, he thought back to the moment, examining his own behavior for any possible blunder. Could the Emperor have noticed?

“Do not concern yourself with the past, son”, his father ended his dark musings, “You did well.” And after a brief pause he added: “Otherwise you might not have lived to reconsider.”

Luke shot him a short look, at the same time taken aback by the statement yet not also not quite surprised. He knew that the Emperor allowed nobody to endanger his position and would ruthlessly dispose of any possible threat to him.

Yes, _him_. There was something else that bothered him, yet he could not quite put his finger to it. The way the Emperor had spoken about his father and himself…

“What did he mean… ‘ _if I pose a threat to you?’”_ he inquired. Maybe his father could shed some light on his confusion.

For a split second, Luke detected something akin to regret in his father’s signature, and an odd sense of hesitation. That of course only served to fuel his curiosity.

“What is it?”

Vader did not answer immediately, yet Luke felt that he would receive his reply soon enough.

Within moments, they had left the connecting tunnels and entered the familiar grounds of Vader’s castle. Almost instantly, Luke perceived a slight relaxation in his father and sure enough, the latter soon spoke.

“Have you ever come across the term ‘ _Rule of Two_ ’?”

Luke blinked in surprise. Was this a quiz? Should he have learned this in school? Granted, he’d never paid much attention in Galactic History. Their teacher had been a bore who knew only dreary dates and absolutely nothing about the interesting stuff; Great Wars, the Republic or the… Jedi, for that matter.

“I wouldn’t suppose you have”, his father spared him the humiliation of having to answer in the negative. “It is an old… principle of the Sith. It was put in place over a thousand years ago by a Sith by the name of Darth Bane. To counter the fighting and eventual self-destruction within the Brotherhood of Darkness which had before guided the Sith and proclaimed equality among them, it was stated that there could now be only two. A master and an apprentice _‘One to embody the power, the other to crave it.’_ ”

Luke came to a halt and his father soon followed suit. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around what he had heard, but already he knew he didn’t like it one bit.

“Wait… So what happens if there are more than two?”

Vader studied his son intently and Luke had to admit to feeling slightly uncomfortable under the steady observation.

“You are not a Sith yet, my son.”

And it was not like he had the intention to be, for all intents and purposes. At least not truly. Then again, the Jedi ideals didn’t seem much more appealing, either, and Luke wasn’t quite sure why he had to choose sides in the first place. He had always done what he had considered right, wasn’t that the most important thing? However, he knew that he would have to play along - to some degree - when the time came.

“But what happens then? What if an apprentice has learned all he can?”

Again Vader paused. Again a flicker of hesitation.

“When an apprentice surpasses his master, he must take his rightful place by eliminating the latter.”

The words registered in Luke’s mind and a clammy feeling overcame him.

“So that means if I should ever…” he began but could not bring himself to finish the sentence, afraid of the reality behind his own words.

His father only briefly shook his head.

“Do not concern yourself with that,” he stated simply. “When the time comes, all will fall into place.”

Luke opened his mouth to retort but found he had no idea how. Ahead of him, his father had already resumed his walk and he chose to follow, jogging behind the older man. He soon caught up with him and tailed in silence down the spartan, dark corridors.

Every corner, every turbo lift, every security station, heck, even the officers, they all looked the same. Bleak, boring and easily replaceable without anyone ever noticing. It was no wonder people managed to get lost in this place. Luke had only lived here for a short while now, and had barely been able to memorize the most important routes and stations.

This, however, was clearly not the way they had taken before, he noticed, puzzled.

“Where are we going?”

Vader stepped into a nearby lift, waiting for his son to follow him.

“I was intending to stop by at my private hangar to inspect a set of sensor jammers I have ordered and thought you might want to come along.”

Luke’s eyes went wide with excitement. Was this some sort of reward?

“Of course!” he exclaimed, the oppression which had been about to overwhelm him only minutes ago almost forgotten. “So I can finally see your snubs?”

“Among others, yes.”

Luke grinned to himself, almost _beside_ himself. If there was anything he loved, it was a fast ship - preferably one he could modify. He hadn’t flown anything himself for far too long long - his T-16 lost on Tatooine, his X-Wing… well, he wasn’t entirely sure, exactly - that his whole body literally ached to get inside a cockpit again, to feel the pull of planetary gravitation pressing him into the seat with nothing but the promise of open space beyond the atmosphere.

“You will, of course, not be flying,” his father instantly commented, clearly aware of his son’s thoughts.

“Yeah, I guessed as much”, Luke admitted, but hardly felt his joy dampened, “So… what ship do you need the sensor jammers for?”

“ARC-170,” Vader answered expertly, almost casually, as the lift came to a halt and the pair stepped out into yet another corridor, “Prototype series, pre-Clone Wars unit.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. ARC’s weren’t all that uncommon today, but most of those affiliated with the Alliance fleet had fallen into their hands as spoils of the war. Bleak, standard ‘Imperial grey’, outfitted with only the most necessary functions and systems, a far cry from the ReCon fighter of choice during the Clone Wars.

The longer they walked, the harder Luke found it to contain his excitement; he couldn’t even begin to imagine the gems he could possibly get to see.

And when the heavy blast doors to the landing bay finally slid open to welcome father and son inside, Luke could not help but gape. Whatever he had expected… this surpassed even his wildest dreams.

Almost stumbling over his own feet, he hurried over to a nearby _V-Wing_. _An Alpha-3 Nimbus-class_ , he recognized instantly, predecessor to the current _A-Wings_. It’s four folding wings were a dead-giveaway.

Right next to it stood an old _Aurek-class_ with an exposed sublight engine, and a rare _Shooting Star,_ one of the few ships sporting a 0.5 class hyperdrive.

Wandering among the snubs and smaller transports, Luke was simply amazed. Although he had a fairly good knowledge of ships past and present and had read about everything he had been able to get his hands on, he was surprised that there were several models which he could not place. At all.

Returning from the storage area, his father walked up to him, a slight tone of amusement ringing in his voice.

“I take it you find my collection _interesting_.”

Luke smirked at the deliberate understatement.

“ _Interesting_ isn’t what I’d call it”, he admitted, “It blows me away! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Yes, I imagine,” Vader commented and a shimmer of pride streaming through the Force caused Luke to smirk just a little more. “Some of these are actually one of a kind. This one, for example.” he walked over to a nearby snub and almost gently ran patted the grey hull with his gloved hand. “Can you place it?”

Luke walked closer and carefully ran his hand across the hull. It looked roughly over 12 meters long, slender and very sleek, with a one-man cockpit, two side-mounted wings and a set of fins protruding above what appeared to the engine housing. Its hull was streaked with dark green markings.

“It looks like an old design…” Luke admitted, but was completely at a loss.

“An old design indeed,” Vader commented, and it was to Luke as if he heard a short laugh through their link, “Quite old in fact. It is the reconstruction of an _XC-01 Star Saber_ from the Old Republic era.”

“Old Republic?” Luke almost stammered in disbelief, “That would make it at least a thousand years old!”

“3,976, to be exact”, he corrected and Luke clearly felt his amusement at his son’s shock. “Of course that is only true some for the components, since much of it was beyond repair and had to be replaced. It is still not quite complete, however”, he paused for a moment and turned to look at the boy, “perhaps you would care to assist me in the repairs.”

“Sure!” Luke answered hastily. “I always used to repair my X-Wing myself,” he added, feeling a slight twinge at the memory of his old ship.

“Ah, yes, your ship”, his father said, almost as if remembering something that had slipped from his mind. “Come with me.”

Puzzled, Luke did as he was told and went after the older man, past several other snubs - some identifiable, others not quite -, speederbikes and smaller transports to a corner toward the far left of the landing bay.

And there, surrounded workbenches, tools, diagnostic instruments and even an odd little astromech or two, it stood: _his_ X-Wing.

Luke recognized it instantly. The scorchmarks from the various hits he’d taken, subtle details where his modifications deviated from the regular outfittings of the T-65. She had a distinctive face, and there was no way Luke would mistake her for any other ship.

“I found her on Tatooine. Naturally, the hyperspace engine has been disabled. But I must say I am intrigued with your alterations. Quite an interesting piece of work.”

Luke gleamed at the compliment and lovingly ran his hand over the slanted nose. He had to admit he hadn’t expected to see her again.

“And she flies great! You should try it sometime.” he offered almost naturally.

Vader studied him for a quiet moment.

“Perhaps I will.”

“And _maybe_ I could get a shot at that _Firespray_ I saw back there?”

There it was again. The infamous pointing finger.

“Do not push your luck, son.”

 

Gnarled hands placed a deactivated datapad on the desk and folded slowly. The Emperor’s small frame leaned heavily against the back cushion of the chair.

It had been a rather interesting meeting, he had to admit. Taxing, but interesting. Before meeting the boy, he had assumed him to be powerful, certainly, with a touch of recklessness and youthful impatience.

His father’s son.

And that he had certainly proved to be.

All that, and so much more.

As young and innocent as he was, there appeared to be an odd element of bitterness that seemed out of place with the boy’s pure signature.

Certainly there was loyalty, to Vader, to _his father_ , first and foremost, to his friends, that much he could tell. Yet at the same time there was indecision, insecurity, and questions.

The old man closed his eyes and opened himself to the Dark Side, and his sinister ally instantly complied. Without delay, it showed him the boy, allowed him to _read_ the child. The anger and hatred which had surrounded his presence before were gone, the sudden rush of power ebbed away. The boy seemed to almost play with it; manipulated the Force, the Dark Side with such natural ease, and was likely not even aware of it.

Yet what intrigued him the most was the element of uncertainty; for decades the Dark Side had enabled him to see every aspect of the future so he could shape it after his wishes, manipulate those around him in such a way that the outcome suited his needs. He had destroyed great politicians and warriors, had crafted wars and alliances. All because of his unique insight.

But with the boy, for the first time the Dark Side refused to serve him. His future remained hidden, uncertain.

A large risk, without doubt.

Yet at the same time something he had not encountered in a long time…

A challenge.


	13. Imprisonment

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the vast training hall, the small, scrawny figure of Luke Skywalker seemed  almost insignificant, as if shrinking against and into its surroundings. To the unsuspecting eye, he appeared to be an ordinary adolescent, if somewhat short and spindly for his age, with light blond hair darkening at the roots into an almost hazelnut shade. His dark, utilitarian outfit, a strange contrast to his brightening skin, hung loosely off his body. A simple glance at the boy could not possibly reveal his true portent, nor his immense potential.

Yet although at the very center of the galaxy, in the tumultuous midst of political and ideological conflicts, Luke felt far less important than his father - and even the Emperor - would have him believe. The more days passed, the more he began to regard himself as a prisoner rather than a son rediscovered, a student newly initiated.

The instructions by and interactions with his father were the only breaks in his daily monotony, providing a welcome diversion. However, over the past few days, even those had become much less frequent. Of course Luke understood that his father's position required dedication, diligent work and, above all, massive amounts of time. Yet a cognitive understanding hardly helped mend his own sense of insignificance and injustice.

It was at times like those that Luke found his mind wander back involuntarily to his friends, conjuring up their images before his inner eye. What would they be doing right now? Had they finished setting up the new base? Was Han still with them or had he eventually decided to leave to pay off his debts as he had originally intended?

Luke shook his head with a small grin. Somehow he was certain that Leia had found a way of persuading the smuggler to stay on just a little longer, to support their cause instead of furthering his own ends. She was an eloquent and influential woman and Luke believed her to be able to achieve just about anything she set her mind to. For all he knew, she had already found out his location and was currently organizing a search-and-rescue party to reclaim him from the heart of the Empire. To walk straight into harm's way.

He sighed briefly. If only he were able to contact her, to let her know that he was not in any imminent danger. That he had some measure of control over the situation and wished for anything but to endanger her by becoming involved. Yet sending her any sort of message would do just that. While he had access to the holonet - granted, it was limited - and other, more obscure means of communication, Luke was sure that his every move was being monitored, every attempt at communication recorded by the Emperor's men - he refused to believe his father would betray his trust in such a manner - to be used to his advantage. No. He would never be able to forgive himself if his actions would put her at risk.

There was one way, however, which would leave no traces, allow no one to locate what should remain hidden. Taking a deep breath, the boy focused his thoughts and reached out to the Force, gently coaxing it into aiding him. It responded all too willingly, its fabric flaring up brightly, almost delightedly at his request.

Mere days ago he might have flinched and possibly even pulled back at the sudden onslaught of emotions and thoughts, a maelstrom of directionless energy without any focus or purpose, brought into existence by the strange amalgam of creatures in the galaxy's center. Now, however, as he had begun honing his skills, hidden patterns became suddenly clear, the purpose of the force revealing itself to him in even the oddest and seemingly most random details. It truly did bind the galaxy together, he now realized, almost embarrassed, surrounding and penetrating everything in it.

Overcoming the initial stupefaction, Luke focused his mind on a set of peculiarly different signatures, calling them to respond to his beckoning, wherever they might be. And the reaction came quickly enough, a tiny flare of activity inconceivably far away in space, yet almost close in the force. A sudden gust of warmth overwhelmed him, raised the corners of his mouth into a boyish smile, and he instantly new he had found what he had been looking for. Her signature was unmistakable, strong and radiant, unbridled, and Luke was once more amazed that someone with no affinity for the force should have such a strong impact on it.

Leia's okay, he reassured himself immediately, releasing a breath he had not been aware of holding. She was too far away for him to perceive much detail yet - although he would certainly improve his power in that regard - but no harm had come to her, of that much he was certain.

Emboldened by his success, Luke took a deep breath and intensified his connection to the force, breaking off all contact to the outside world to concentrate fully on what lay beyond the visible.

 _Leia_ , he called out tentatively, waiting for the slightest reaction of recognition in her signature.

_Leia, can you hear me?_

Yet while the force pulsed and swelled in response to his plea, the signature remained stagnant.

A twinge of frustration spread through the boy, making him disregard the subtle warnings issued through the force itself.

_Leia, please, hear me!_

"Patience, my son", a mechanical baritone suddenly thundered and Luke almost fell out of his meditation, severing his contact to the force so rapidly the backlash sent his head ringing.

As he brought a hand to his forehead, he looked up at the imposing figure standing at arm's length, puzzled at how he could not have noticed his father entering the training hall.

The dark figure observed him from behind the unreadable mask.

"You have indeed grown strong, son, but you still lack patience."

Luke unfolded his legs and leaned back, supporting his weight with one arm against the floor. Unable to disguise the discontent which had been plaguing him lately, he looked back up at his father.

"How do you expect me to be patient when I'm basically locked in here with nothing to do but be bored?" he replied, an accusing edge to his voice.

Vader crossed his arms in front of his massive chest, a gesture which would certainly have been accompanied by a raised eyebrow had he not been wearing the mask.

"I distinctly recall leaving you exercises to complete during my absence; I trust you have not been neglecting your studies."

The boy gave an impatient sigh.

"Don't worry, I did every single one of them", he responded, "you can test me if you want."

And that he certainly could. After all, those exercises had been anything but difficult: simple meditative tasks to increase his grasp of the force, physical exercises to improve his balance and control of and feel for his own body. Nothing as outlandish as he had expected to encounter training with his father, who was, after all, known for his rigidity.

"You do not seem to feel sufficiently challenged." Vader observed.

Unconsciously, the boy began tugging at the synthskin covering his artificial left hand.

"I just feel like I should do more. Like I should be stronger already," he stated, and, after a brief silence, added confidently, "I know I could be."

The dark figure regarded him for a moment, studying his face, as if remembering something long forgotten and deeply buried.

"He who wishes to master the force cannot do so without first mastering its basic principles. Impatience might prove injurious."

Luke was about to retort when a shrill beeping preempted him.

A comlink.

Vader's large, gloved hand went down to his belt and quickly produced the small device. Without so much as a comment, he activated it.

"What is it?" he almost barked, impatiently, not too pleased with the disturbance.

"Milord, Captain Zevik is attempting to contact you," a voice rang from the tiny speaker, "It seems there have been unexpected developments in the Zolan system."

"Establish a secure connection in my communication's suite, and assemble the leading tactical officers." he ordered briskly.

"Yes, Milord."

As Vader cut the communication and restored the comlink to his belt, he briefly looked at his son.

"This matter requires my immediate attention. We will proceed with your lessons later."

Without any further word, the Dark Lord turned around and swiftly strode out of the hall, leaving behind a young man who was not sure whether he should be surprised or angry, or if he should not have seen it coming all along.

He opted for annoyance.

Almost resigning, he let out another sigh.

"I'm never gonna get anywhere like this…"

 

Leia gritted her teeth.

The past few weeks had hardly been easy for her. As if settling the Alliance into a new base was not already a colossal task by itself, Luke had _had_ to take off on his own without letting anyone know of his destination. And _had_ she known, oh, she would have stopped him! Despite all the bad feelings she had had, she would never have expected to have him to resurface on Imperial Center, of all places, would never have expected him bold - or _foolish_ \- enough to walk straight into the Gundark's nest. But being the reckless boy he was, Luke had not only set down on Imperial Center but somehow managed to draw the attention of Darth Vader himself to become his personal _guest._

Every single time she reminded herself of the situation, she wanted to simply scream in frustration, and, _by the star_ s, she had done so far more often than she was willing to admit even to herself.

What in the worlds was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?

Rubbing her temples to drive away a persistent headache, she left out a sigh of exasperation and worry alike.

Having finished reading the report on the datapad, Han stepped up to the princess and reached over her shoulder, placing the small device on the desk.

"Relax, Princess," he said smoothly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "now that we're sure it's him, at least we can at least finally do something about it. Get the kid back."

Leia shrugged off his hand and shot him an angry look.

" _Relax_?" she almost hissed, "Knowing that Luke is held on Imperial Center, in Vader's castle of all places, and has already been taken to the Emperor, hardly makes me feel relaxed! Do you have any idea what they might do to him if they find out just who he is?"

"If they didn't know that already, they wouldn't be holding him," Han let out before he could stop himself, awarding himself another sour look from the Princess.

Of course she was aware that they did not take Luke for just any random rebel pilot, that they knew he had destroyed the Death Star.

And worst of all, that he was a Jedi.

 

' _A Jedi? What's that?' a small Leia looked up at her father curiously. She'd never heard that word before._

_'The Jedi were wise and noble warriors. They were keepers of peace and justice. If something went wrong in the galaxy, the Jedi would go and fix it. Some of them were heroes, and also good friends.' he answered wistfully. 'But that was a long time ago. Even before you were born, little one.'_

_'What happened to them? Where are they now?'_

_'The Emperor was afraid of the Jedi, he didn't like them. They…' he paused, hesitating, 'The Jedi are gone now.'_

It had only been much later that Leia discovered what had really happened to the Jedi, once she was old enough to see through the lies and deception of the Imperial Regime. After the formation of the Galactic Empire, the Jedi had been declared traitors, and a threat to the _peace_ granted by Palpatine. They had been _exterminated_ , every single one of them. And even today, force sensitive children were hunted down by the Emperor's agents, under the guise of charity, assistance and education, of course.

None of their families ever saw those children again, she knew, but fear of the Empire was enough to force most of them into silence and complete obedience.

Simply imagining the fate that might lie in store for Luke forced her stomach into a tight knot, constricted her chest and made it hard to breathe.

"…going on," Han's voice finally tore her from her daydreams, "Just like the holo recording, the report says that it doesn't look like Luke's a prisoner there. He isn't wearing any binders or anything. So far, he seems to be doing okay, considering the situation."

Leia snorted.

"What a unique appraisal of the situation, Captain Solo", she mocked bitterly but soon recovered her bearings. "He may not wear binders or be locked in a cell, but I know that Luke did not desert to the Empire. The Emperor and Vader have something to keep him under control, and whatever it is, I will not stand idly by and watch Luke be corrupted by those monsters!"

"Now we're talkin'!" Han smirked. "Pray, what do you have in mind, your Highness?"

Leia rolled her eyes and turned back toward the communications console and, while punching in an encrypted code, simply answered: "Imperial Center may be the Empire's playground now, but that does not mean I cannot pull a few strings myself."

Han raised his eyebrows, watching curiously.

After a short flicker, a bluish holo image appeared, showing an older humanoid, possibly in his early to mid 50s, a grayish beard streaming onto a chest covered in medals and insignia of all kinds.

"Ambassador Oren, it is good to see you safe." Leia greeted the man with a slight bow of her head.

Oren smiled in return.

"And you, Senator, especially in these dark times."

A truthful greeting, Leia thought bitterly, now moreso than ever.

"Dark times indeed. How are the preparations going?"

"Very well, Senator, my men are in position. We will commence the operation at your signal."

"Thank you, Ambassador, I am in your debt."

Oren nodded briefly and within a moment, the transmission was cut.

In- and exhaling deeply, Leia turned around to meet the puzzled face of Han Solo.

"Care to explain?"

The princess crossed her arms in front of her chest indignantly.

"We are going to get Luke out of there."

“Huh. Gutsy. Slightly suicidal. I like it."

 

Vader briskly exited the corridor to his private living quarters, an unprocessed sigh puzzling the sensors of his vocabulator. If there was one thing about his position he truly despised, other than dealing with the seemingly endless line of bootlickers, it was meetings. To Darth Vader, those gatherings embodied the politicians' hesitant inaction, their inability to set their mind to a single task and accomplish it. Above all, politicians reveled in deliberation, discussion and delay. Vader himself preferred more immediate solutions. Even more than 30 years after first picking up a lightsaber, he still believed most, if not all, problems and conflicts could be solved with the swing of its vibrant blade. And sometimes, rather often lately, in fact, Vader was tempted to test his theory on the evil of meetings itself.

He was about to turn a quick left to enter his son's own section to join the boy in training hall, when he became aware the familiar signature, although close, was not within it. Pausing in front of the turbolift - the officers on duty in his vicinity suddenly standing even more erect than usual - he opened his mind and stretched out through the force. It took only the fraction of a second for the bright spark that was his son's presence to answer his calling almost on reflex.

Yes, there he was, quite as expected.

Vader turned in a semi circle, entered the turbolift and punched in a command along with his security code. Silently, the cabin made its way up until soon, it slowed to a halt, opening its doors for its passenger to disembark.

Stepping out onto the hangar level, the Dark Lord followed the bright trace, passing between his own treasured snubs, gliders and smaller transports until he reached the hidden corner reserved for his son's own fighter.

Obviously alerted to his father's arrival by the hammering of his boots against the polished deck, Luke briefly glanced up at his father - and quite a sight the boy was! Streaks of oil and grime covered his face, hands and exposed lower arms, similar patches littered the front and shoulders of the grayish flight suit replacing his black outfit, and his hair fared little better.

"It appears you deem today's training finished?" Vader observed.

Luke shrugged, quickly returning his attention to the exposed machinery in front of him.

"I was getting bored, so I decided to come up here. Fixing things always helps me relax. I'm good at fixing things." he explained, as if the concept must be alien to his father.

Yet it was anything but that.

_'I'm good at fixing things.'_

Vader remembered days when there was nothing other than fixing things, when his world seemed so broken that the only thing to do seemed to be to start at the bottom, to fix whatever he could, hoping his world would be mended in the process. He faintly remember the smell of oil and lubricants, the biting stench of metal being cut and soldered again, sparks biting into the grimed skin of his face and arms. His senses, although assaulted, more alive than ever before.

He was still good at fixing things, but it no longer made him feel alive, no longer allowed him to hope for reparation.

Aware of the direction his own thoughts were taking, Vader quickly pulled himself from his reminiscences and addressed his son.

"You seem to be working on the sensor computer."

"Yeah, it's been giving me a bit of trouble lately."

From somewhere below the nose, a quick burst of binary rang to their ears and R2 rolled toward its master, handing over a battered hydrospanner.

"Things do not need to be broken to be repaired," Vader responded without much thought, earning himself an incredulous look from his son.

"You speak binary?"

"As I told you, I once owned a unit quite like yours."

While his hands were still busy with the sensor computer, his eyes rested curiously on his father's unreadable mask.

"What happened to it?"

 _What indeed?_ he wondered, as he eyed the small astromech in front of him. Ever since he had first seen the unit and observed its interactions with his son, he had not been able to shake the feeling of familiarity. Was it because he was seeing himself in his son? After all, this little astromech couldn't very well be his R2, could it? The same he had received as a present for being knighted, had received from _her…_ Was it even possible, after all this time?

The last time he had seen R2 had been on Mustafar, on the day of his birth as Darth Vader. He had left him with his fighter and remembered little afterwards, little besides the betrayal of his former master and friend. He had only truly become a Sith in the bed of hot ashes, not when he had pledged allegiance to Palpatine's teachings. Anakin Skywalker had died there, on the shores of Mustafar, and the newly-born Darth Vader had no past, no ties to anyone.

Anyone but his Master.

Or so it had seemed, for as Vader looked down at the scrawny boy before him, registering the worry in his eyes, he was aware that he could not renounce all ties to the man he had once been. Nor would he be able to submit himself to his master completely any longer.

"What is it, father? Is anything wrong?"

The boy clearly had become well-attuned to the force, picking up through their link what no one else would be able to perceive.

"It is of no matter." he simply stated and was about to turn to leave when he stopped himself and took a step toward his son instead.

The boy still regarded him curiously.

"What exactly seems to be the trouble with the sensors?"

Luke blinked once, twice, until a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, you see," he began, pointing his grimed fingers at several of the open sections near the nose of the snub, the large figure of Darth Vader stepping up to the boy to follow his gestures, "the readings have been slightly off lately. Not so much that they'd cause any problems, but I'm sure I can get them to be more precise. You know, I was thinking I'd…"

Maybe _his_ life was beyond repair, but he could at least see to it that the same would not happen to his son. He was, after all, still good at fixing things.

 

Holding the datapad in a loose grip, Palpatine skimmed through the report with only minimal interest. He had already been informed of the operation's progress in person - as he preferred - and thus the document held little new information. He leaned back in the oversized, he backed chair behind his desk and eventually rested the datapad in his lap. Although he had to admit to being quite content with how smoothly his orders, both explicit and implicit, had been carried out so far, different matters reigned his mind in those days.

Ever since Vader had brought the boy before him, the Dark Side had been tumultuous, constantly changing so that even his own grasp of the future was impeded, limited at best. Young Skywalker was an element of uncertainty and chaos the likes he had never experienced before, and while that alone would have made others cautious, nervous, fearful even, Palpatine recognized it as a challenge. And quite a welcome one at that.

In the past 40 years, the future had been as predictable to him a badly played game of Dejarik, its pieces moving only too willingly to his command, both at his own hands and those of others without the necessary insight. Little had presented a challenge to him, most hindrances removed all too easily, often just a matter of biding the right time. Even Anakin Skywalker, the _Chosen One_ , had succumbed readily, a simple story whispered into his ear at the right time sealing his fate.

But this boy, Palpatine perceived clearly, was different. Certainly, he could be played as well, but his actions, no matter the course taken, involved an integral element of uncertainty.

Here was a real challenge. A real 'Chose One'. Someone whose defeat and fall required all of his skills, talents and attention. A fall which would finally allow him to feel triumphant.

He could feel the boy approach his chamber, still hundreds of meters away, just as he had observed him through the Dark Side again and again. And no matter how often he perceived it, the boy's power still impressed him. Even at this stage, he far surpassed most of the force sensitives Palpatine had known in his lifetime, even those at the top of the Jedi Order. His would be a great fall, and he would be a Sith the likes the galaxy had never seen. A valuable asset, and a dangerous apprentice alike.

Finally, the winged doors at the other end of his private office opened and the scrawny boy stepped into the darkness, carefully surveying his surroundings.

"Welcome, young Skywalker", he greeted the both smoothly, "Pray, step closer. These rooms are much less formal than my audience chambers, and I see no use for formalities beyond this point."

His only response being a small nod, Luke stepped toward the large desk and, upon the Emperor's gesture, sat down.

"So, my son, how have you fared since we last spoke?" he asked, projecting genuine concern, "I hope you find your father's residence to your liking?"

"Yes, it's… it's okay," he pressed out, clearly uncomfortable with both the intimacy of the situation and overwhelming presence of Palpatine himself.

"Quite spartan, almost barren, I think," Palpatine continued, a gentle smile playing around his lips, "But your father has always had peculiar tastes."

Silence blanketed the air for long moments, and Palpatine simply regarded the boy curiously. _So much power in such a child…_

"How is your training coming along?"

"Well, I think," Luke answered, his hesitant pauses growing shorter, "I've improved my meditation, and I have been doing some physical exercises…"

Palpatine leaned to the boy, his elbows resting on the table, chin on his folded hands.

"You seem impatient. You wish to proceed more quickly than you have so far."

"I… Well, I'd like to spend more time training, but father's always busy, and…"

Palpatine cut him off with the wave of a hand and replied with as much understanding as he could:

"You are feeling neglected, like a prisoner, aren't you? I have sensed your longing for diversion, and I understand your wish to be… free…"

The boy averted his gaze, ashamed of having been read so effortlessly, of being so exposed.

He had certainly hit a nerve.

"You must understand why cannot allow you to roam about freely just yet, my son. The galaxy is a dangerous place and once it has become public just who you are, many people will be jealous of you. Fear you … _Hate_ you," the last addition awarded him a small flinch from the boy. "They will want to take your life, and until we are sure that you can be safe, we must do what we can to protect you."

The boy was biting the inside of his lower lip, a habit he seemed to display whenever he felt nervous or particularly distraught, but he did look at Palpatine, standing his ground, intent against trusting the man. It was so obvious.

"You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes," the boy answered briefly.

"As for your father… he is an important, young one, with many duties. He is quite indispensable to me, and, as I am sure, as unsatisfied with the situation as you are."

With a long exhale, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

"I would tell you to learn patience, but I am sure your father has already done so. On many occasions. I would propose a different strategy: Your father is currently occupied with a planetary conflict in the Zolan system, and a tactical meeting is set to take place this evening, if I remember correctly. How would you like to accompany your father? I believe it may help you see from his point of view."

 

Well, how would he like it?

Luke wasn't quite so sure himself as he walked next to his father, en route to the General Situation Room where, as Vader had explained briefly earlier, meetings of such scale took place.

"So, about the meeting…" Luke tried, looking up at this father, trying to extract as much information as possible from this unexpected outing, regardless of whether he appreciated the situation or not.

His father threw a short glance down at him, all the while keeping up his pace, forcing the boy to almost jog along to avoid being left behind.

"You are not expected to participate. Observe quietly."

Luke scowled. He was well aware of how uncomfortable his father was with the situation and suspected that he had protested against the Emperor's wishes, although apparently unsuccessfully.

"If I'm supposed to observe, I should at least know what's going on, right?" he tried again.

A small sound escaped his father's vocabulator - whether it was a sigh, a snort or a laugh was undeterminable - yet he eventually began a short briefing.

"I believe you are aware of a planet by the name of Zolan, in the Lamdba sector…"

"The Mid Rim, yeah, I've heard of it."

"The planet was originally inhabited only by the Zolanders, a sentient humanoid species with reptilian features. Through an experiment to counter their sun's radioactive emissions, scientists created an 'offshoot', a race almost identical to the Zolanders themselves, but with many additional qualities, one being shapeshifting. These offshoots were, as one may expect, feared and eventually persecuted and even hunted. Out of this oppression grew a sense of community. This group is now known as the Clawdites."

"And because they were suppressed, they're now trying to get back at the Zolanders and it's basically Civil War?" Luke attempted an educated guess.

"Basically, yes." Vader responded, but failed to give any further detail for, apparently, they had reached their destination: a large, circular room, filled to the brim with senior officers and their assistants, all crowding around a large, likewise circular holoprojector protruding from the floor.

The constant droning of chatter abruptly silenced as Vader entered the room, and Luke was almost overwhelmed by the atmosphere of apprehension, anxiety and even fear. He also felt a few curious eyes streak his body and face from time to time, perceived the confusion and curiosity at who the Dark Lord's companion might be.

But his father made no attempt at an introduction.

"General, give us the current status," he ordered, and instantly the large room grew even darker, a large, circular holo flickering to life, bathing every single person in shades of phosphorescent blues and greens.

Luke himself was almost glad of the darkness, feeling himself much less in the center of attention. He took a small step back, staying away from the center of the room as far as possible without putting too much distance between his father and himself.

Towards his left, the general began giving his report, every once in a while changing the holo by zooming in or adding miniature troops marching across the planet's surface to visualize the Clawdite's advance.

Yet no matter what his intentions had been, Luke just couldn't find it in himself to pay attention. He soon shut out the officer's voice and let his eyes wander across the people in the room, jumping back and forth between faces and insignia. In less than a minute, he had already spotted half a dozen admirals, at least 20 captains and generals and still people whose ranks he did not even recognize. Quickly, he made a mental note to ask his father later.

The report seemed to go on without end and Luke quickly felt himself grow bored, annoyed even. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an admiral staring at him, the old man's derogatory gaze running up and down Luke's small body, making him feel even more insignificant than he already had before. Unsure of what to do, of how to react, he simply pretended to be listening to the report, his eyes intently focused on the holo. Yet instead of improving, the situation seemed to become even worse. Now that it had entered his attention, he could feel a number of pairs of eyes on him at all times, all judging him, evaluating him. They were careful not to arouse his father's attention of course, and were apparently successful at that, but Luke was no longer able to ignore them.

Standing there, short and spindly, plainly dressed and hardly intimidating, he felt utter self-conscious, exposed not as the son of Darth Vader or rather Anakin Skywalker but as the ordinary farmboy he was. Insignificant and worthless

He was instantly tempted to contact his father through the force, to ask him to do something, _anything_ , or at least let him leave, but he knew better than to interfere with his duties. Luke simply stood and bore the looks, the thoughts so clear to him through the force. With each passing second, he felt smaller and smaller, until finally, anger stepped in and cloaked him in a protective mantle, deflecting derision instead of consuming it.

Anger was much easier, for there was so much more to be angry at: those ignorant officers for thinking so little of him, the Emperor for suggesting he come along and, certainly, his father for standing by and watching his son being belittled.

After what seemed like hours but was in fact barely one, the meeting finally dissolved, officers streaming out more or less quickly to attend to other duties, father and son alone remaining behind. The former threw another judging glance at the holo before turning it off.

"A waste of resources," he commented to himself.

Luke simply stood staring, anger still boiling hot.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked exasperatedly, barely able to keep himself from yelling.

Instead of replying, his father turned to face him. At least he had his attention now.

"Didn't you hear what they were thinking? Like I was your slave or something!"

Vader regarded him calmly.

"You should not concern yourself with their misguided ideas, they are not worth your attention."

Luke gave a short, unbelieving laugh.

"That's… that's not the point!" he retorted, "You should have said something, _anything_! You're my father, aren't you?!"

The latter studied him for a moment longer, then turned to leave, averting his gaze from his son.

"Nobody is to know who you are until it is deemed necessary. It would mean in immense risk."

"And locking me in here is better? Keep me safe but drive me insane?"

His father turned back toward him, weariness radiating through the force.

"You truly must learn patience, young one."

 

"Princess Leia, please _do_ reconsider. You know how much I value Master Luke, but this is simply too reckless! The odds of successfully retrieving him from inside Darth Vader's palace are–"

Within split-seconds, all electronic life drained from C-3PO and he slumped limply against Han Solo, whose hand was still around the deactivation switch in the droid's neck.

"Thank you so much," Leia sighed honestly, gathering the rest of her needed items into a small pouch, long-range comlink in her hand, ready to signal for the start of the operation.

"You sure you want to do this, Princess?" Han asked, freeing himself from 3PO's weight by resting the droid against a bunk to the wall. "I'm not comfortable letting you anywhere near that hunk, you really _should_ stay here."

Leia crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at him reproachfully.

"And trust you with the whole mission? I'd rather not!"

"But just so we're clear: you stay with Chewie, in orbit. Your guy says the cruiser's Imperial, recent proper codes and registration and everything, right? Won't even know you're there? He's trustworthy?"

"He is. No need to worry. Not as long as you do your job."

"Oh, trust me, Princess, I will. And then he and I will have a long talk."

 

"Patience… Patience! Seriously, if I hear that word ever again…" Luke gritted his teeth and heavily fell down against the mattress.

His anger was slowly subsiding, leaving in its wake only frustration and an even increased sense of imprisonment. Before long, he would truly lose his mind in here, he knew. If something didn't change, he would just go insane. At least then it would not matter anymore, he told himself. Insane people did not care how they were treated and if their parents had time for them, if they were Sith Lords or Jedi or if the Emperor might want them dead, or maybe want them to kill their only remaining parent.

Being insane must be great, Luke concluded wryly.

"What d'you think, R2?" he asked, but knew there would be no answer. The small astromech had powered down earlier to perform some internal maintenance routines, which would quite likely take all night, leaving Luke without even his last friend to keep him company.

Letting out another sigh, the boy started at the ceiling. Being in here, talking to himself certainly would not help him, he decided. And although he was tempted to search for his father in a desperate longing for any sort of human contact to alleviate his complete sense of abandonment, their earlier parting would hardly make for a happy reunion. For much of the same reasons, tinkering with his X-Wing was out of the question: chances were his father would visit his private hangar sooner or later to relieve his own tension, and he just did not feel like provoking a meeting just yet.

The training hall then, he decided. Maybe some physical exertion would take the edge off. It usually worked for him.

He heaved himself off his bed and walked over to the door. When he had punched in the opening command, however, he almost stumbled backwards. Right in front of him stood a Stormtrooper, his hand pausing in mid air above the chime. Clearly, the man was as surprised as he was.

"Ah… Master Skywalker?" the electronically amplified voice asked.

"Yeah… why?" Luke almost stammered, instantly reprimanding himself for allowing himself to be caught off guard so easily.

"The Emperor requests your presence. If you would please follow me."

Luke frowned. Something was not quite right with this one.

“Of course.”

He’d just have to stay sharp.

 


	14. Liberation

Oddly enough, Luke remained silent as the lone Stormtrooper led him along the familiar spartan corridors of his father's castle, through a multitude of security checkpoints and several turbolifts. Even without consciously opening himself to the Force, the boy easily perceived the subtle waves of nervousness radiating from the armored man to his right.

Yes, there was definitely something odd about him, Luke reaffirmed his initial suspicions, but at the same time found it exceedingly difficult to put his finger on exactly what it was that disturbed him so. Since they easily passed each and every single security check, there could hardly be any problems concerning authentication, could there?

Then what might be that troubling for a trained Imperial officer? Certainly it couldn't be Luke himself, he mused with the hint of a grin. For even though Vader's immediate staff had been briefed on the nature of their relationship - under the order and vow of secrecy, no doubt - Luke was hardly an imposing or even intimidating figure by himself.

Intrigued - and perhaps even somewhat thankful for the distraction to his otherwise monotonous daily routine - Luke opened his mind and stretched out the Force. Effortlessly it expanded his perception, allowed him to gain even further insight. The signature of the man next to him appeared dull, as if observed through a milky screen - a common experience made when observing those blind and ignorant to the Force. Involuntarily, his father's own signature flared up in the back of his mind, so much more active and intense than this man's could ever hope to become. It was a pity, really, having to live in such a small universe, having no idea of the wonders it held just beyond the visible. It seemed almost like a disability, he thought, like flying through Beggar's Canyon without feeling the hot wind grazing against your skin, revving up the engines of his T-65 without being almost deafened by the droning sound. It had to be a lackluster life, he assumed; but then again, a non-sensitive would never be able to even know what was missing, he conceded.

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Luke concentrated on the trooper's mind and, without so much as a mental 'knock', gained access almost instantly. The man's emotions were uncoordinated, in the disarray typical for the untrained mind, and Luke stood slightly overwhelmed for a moment. Quickly, however, his newly-gained control over the Force returned and he expertly untangled the mess before him.

The nervousness he had already picked up on before was the first emotion he came upon, soon to be joined by an amalgam dominated by trepidation, fear, insecurity and doubt.

Luke frowned. Although he had become familiar with the general air of fear and wariness penetrating the Imperial Palace and its surroundings - if not all of the planet-wide megalopolis - this mixture of negativity and its degree were, he had to admit, somewhat unusual, especially for just one single person.

Then, just as he was about to dismiss his initial suspicions as mere paranoia, something else reached him through the Force; and it instantly enflamed the latent anger so easily nourished these past weeks.

Secrecy.

The 'trooper was _definitely_ hiding something from him. Whatever that may be, he could not tell - the Force would not allow him insights of such extents… yet. But for a moment, that thought itself was insignificant, for his anger overshadowed all rationale.

Secrecy. Lies. Deception.

What did they all take him for? He may have been born a simple farmboy on a backwater planet in the Outer Rim, but that alone gave them no right to treat him like this! He was not a child anymore, no longer needed to be protected from a cruel universe! Within months, weeks even, he had become involved in and experienced struggles which shook the core of the galaxy, consumed countless lives and left in their wake destruction and misery. All this he had managed to survive, and made a name for himself. And still everyone seemed to regard him as nothing but a child, an immature youth good enough to follow their rules and be formed after their ideals - yet hardly fit to be made aware of all the facts, to make his choices for himself.

He would make them see who he was, Luke was determined, balling his artificial right hand into a tight fist, would prove that he deserved to be treated with respect.

Now, however, his first priority was to stay alert, cautious.

Luke took a quick sideways glance at the officer. What could this man be hiding? Was it possibly related to his orders, the imminent meeting with Palpatine?

What did he know that Luke did not?

The boy slowed down, waiting for his escort to follow suit. The latter seemed to grow impatient immediately, and motioned for Luke to walk on.

"Please, Sir…,"

"Why does the Emperor want to see me?" Luke interrupted bluntly, looking intently at the older man.

"I am not privy to that particular piece of information," came the curt reply, soon followed by yet another attempt to usher Luke onward. "Please, Sir, we must hurry."

Eyeing the man suspiciously, he decided that stalling would be of no use to anyone and slowly set into motion. He would have to keep his mind open, ready to react should the situation turn for the worse.

Something was decidedly wrong here.

 

Absent-mindedly, Leia drummed her fingers on the armrests of the cruiser’s battered chair in a hectic rhythm. Patience, it seemed, was no longer one of her virtues. Then again, there were times for patience and deliberation, and those for immediate action - this moment certainly belonged to the latter category.

About one standard hour ago, Leia, Han, Chewbacca and their frighteningly - but necessarily so - small rescue team had reached space around Imperial Center in a ship so shabby and almost antique it even put the Millennium Falcon to shame. Shortly thereafter, Han and two seasoned, trustworthy officers had boarded a cruiser and descended to the surface. Much to his dismay, it had been decided that Chewbacca would not accompany them - non-humanoids were quite the rarity on Imperial Center in those days and likely to catch much attention. And that, the Wookiee had agreed grudgingly, was something they had absolutely no need of. What they did need, however, Solo had claimed, was for someone to watch over the Princess while he was away - a responsibility the smuggler’s companion eventually accepted.

Down on the planet, in the Palace District, however, - the very _heart_ of the Empire, Leia thought, her chest tightening dangerously - was where the most difficult phase of the entire mission would occur, and where the stakes were the highest. Her contact, Ambassador Oren, although covertly supporting the Rebel Alliance, had so far managed to appear utterly loyal to the Empire and its leader, thus retaining much of his influence and access. It had certainly been said fortuitous disposition which had lead to the Ambassador’s forming of relationships to some of the officers and staff in the Palace District. And through an obscure combination of luck, ingenuity and boldness - and quite likely bribery, although Leia preferred not to be made aware of all the details -, Oren had managed to get one of these men - Rebel at heart, valiant defender of the Galactic Empire on the outside - onto the security rosters for Vader’s palace. She still had to shake her head in disbelief at the thought of such an infiltration; under normal circumstances, she would have been utterly tempted by its possibility but held back by its risks and dangers. At this point in time, however, she saw no alternative.

The officer, they had agreed, would deliver Luke to their rendezvous point. How he intended to do so Leia could only speculate, but decided to spare herself the additional agitation. Once there, Skywalker would be picked up by the two officers accompanying Solo. The smuggler himself was set to remain on the ship, ready to hide - or dash - should the need arise. Originally, of course, Solo had insisted on picking up Luke himself, but Leia had been adamant that he was too well known, putting the mission at risk if he were to show himself. In the end, they had decided on a compromise, and the Princess could only hope that he would uphold their agreement.

A forced exhale momentarily disturbed the rhythm of her drumming fingers. The more she thought about this mission, the more moronic, the more suicidal it seemed. After conferring with Oren initially, she had been ecstatic with the prospect of bringing Luke back, her mind completely blanking out all worries and second thoughts. Any chance, be it ever so small, had seemed worth taking, the risks barely a fine-print to be noticed and at once forgotten.

Now, however, as she was waiting, it all was hurled at her in one overwhelming wave of emotional backlash. What if the Ambassador’s officer wasn’t trustworthy? What if they were discovered? What if they endangered Luke? What if–

A shrill beep from the comm console instantly dispelled her thoughts, and her fingers flew over the keys, hurriedly punching in her authentication code and a receive command.

Accompanied by the sound of Chewbacca’s heavy padded footsteps as the Wookiee joined her to satisfy his curiosity, a small blue holo flickered to life and for just a moment, Leia’s heart was suspended in mid-beat.

“We have him, Senator,” the tiny replica of the Ambassador informed, “He is being escorted to the rendezvous point as we speak.”

Unaware, Leia freed an imprisoned breath, her heart resuming its work at what seemed like twice its normal speed.

“I owe you my gratitude, Ambassador.”

“Let us hold off on the celebrations until we have Skywalker back safe and sound, shall we?”

 

To be honest, Daros felt a _little_ underwhelmed. Kind of _anti-climatic_.

So this was Skywalker: the Alliance’s upstart hero, responsible for rescuing Princess Organa from the Death Star, for the battlestation’s subsequent destruction at the Battle of Yavin, highly praised for his piloting skills, protégé of the late but legendary General Kenobi, admired by thousands, loathed and feared by his adversaries. The same Skywalker about whom he’d heard secret whispers of wonder, who would one day be inspiration and idol to a new generation living in freedom.

_Seriously now?_

Gazing to his left, he regarded his charge.

Before today, he had only seen holos of Skywalker, but even those had hardly prepared him.

Skywalker was barely a _boy_! Small and scrawny, with blond hair and blue eyes that gave him an air of innocence which only underlined his youthful image.

Somehow, he’d always pictured his heroes differently.

_Talk about deceiving appearances._

But for all his outward greenness, the boy exuded a strange air of confidence, Daros had to admit. There was no fear reflected in his eyes, not even any nervousness he could detect. Yet he definitely _was_ curious, observing his surroundings alertedly, and, from time to time, even Daros himself. Strangely enough, despite the claims of the sparse intel he had been given, the boy didn’t seem like he was being held against his will. Rather than that, he moved with an odd familiarity of the place. More resident than prisoner.

Be that as it may, his job was to complete his mission, and he just hoped Skywalker wouldn’t endanger it; for now, he seemed to accept the information he had been given, but just as soon as they were somewhere _safe -_ well, at least out of the Emperor’s earshot - , he would have to fill him in. Somehow he didn’t think patience would be one of the boy’s strongest virtues.

 _Basically, it’s just a matter of getting him out of here_ , Daros simplified, his own nervousness and tension barely kept in check beneath the surface.

For a while, the strange pair walked in silence. Then, however, Skywalker seemed to grow even more alert, possibly wary, as they passed the entrance to the tunnels connecting Vader’s castle and the Imperial Palace.

“Shouldn’t we have taken that one?”

Daros stiffened imperceptibly.

_Not yet._

“Not today, Sir. It appears there have been some technical issues; I have been instructed to take an alternate route.”

Daros felt the boy’s eyes on him - Skywalker was clearly doubting him, but what could he do? If he told him now, they were as good as finished. Too much was at stake here.

“That’s odd”, the boy wondered, as if to himself, “Father should’ve mentioned that.”

Surprise _almost_ made Daros stop in his tracks. _Father_? He hadn’t been aware that the boy had family in the Empire. But then again, it was probably a conscious decision to keep the relationship out of the public eye, considering how it might influence his reputation. Many careers and dreams had been broken simply by carrying the wrong last name.

“He must have forgotten,” he decided to humor him. “Or been too busy.”

The boy gave a snort, almost derisive, as if remembering something unpleasant.

“Busy doesn’t even come _close_. Sure, much of it comes with his position, but still…”

Was Skywalker _whining_ now? _Oh boy…_

“Most positions require time and dedication. The further one rises, the more is demanded.”

“I guess I should be lucky he’s only _Second_ -in-Command, then, huh?”

Although his body continued moving, Daros’s insides came to an immediate halt, a deadening coldness spreading throughout.

 _Second-in-Command? Darth Vader? This boy was_ Darth Vader’s _son?! That was impossible… wasn’t it? Even though he had served at the core of Imperial Center for years, he had never even heard_ rumors _of potential offspring. Surely there had to be a mistake; perhaps he was jumping to conclusions - after all… was Darth Vader even human inside that suit of his?_

“Lord Vader is quite indispensable to the Empire,” he began, attempting to extract some further information from the boy, “The Emperor places great trust in him.”

He heard Skywalker sigh next to him.

“I’m sure he does”, he answered and continued in what was almost a low mumble, as if to himself, “I just wish Father’d take some time for me, too, not just for his work…”

Daros did his best to suppress what could easily turn into panic, mechanically forcing himself onward.

 _The boy really_ was _the son of Vader! … Or at least_ believed _that much. This tiny, scrawny, gangly youth - the child of Darth Vader!_

Perhaps to deflect the oncoming panic, Daros instantly grew hostile.

_Why had no one informed him of this? How in the stars could they forget to mention that the very person he was to basically ‘kidnap’ from the heart of the Empire was the son of one of its leaders himself? It just added a whole new level of insanity to this mission! Sure enough, it also explained why the boy seemed to be quite happy with his being on Imperial Center: he wasn’t being forced or imprisoned, he was with his parent - as wrong as the term sounded in conjunction with the Sith Lord._

_The boy himself seemed innocent enough,_ Daros mused after a sideways glance, _but then again, appearances could be deceiving. What if the boy took after his father? Was the Rebel Alliance even aware of the potential dangers? And if so, how could they disregard them so blatantly? This youth could easily mean the end to their resistance, could - within moments - destroy all the progress which had been hard earned towards a peaceful and just galaxy! Was it really the right choice to retrieve him - or should loyalty demand another course?_

__

The emotional change in the trooper to his right was so sudden that it almost sent him reeling physically. Where before nervousness and secrecy had dominated, hatred, anger and fear flared brightly now, projected with such uncontrolled intensity that Luke was tempted to sever his contact to the Force.

 _Where did that come from all of a sudden?_ He wondered, rubbing his throbbing temples with his left hand, _Just what in the worlds is going on here?_

Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t good. There was so much animosity in the man, he could be capable of anything.

_Anything._

_‘The galaxy is a dangerous place… many people will be jealous of you. Fear you … Hate you. They will want to take your life…’_

The sudden realization almost stunned Luke.

 _This was_ not _good…_

Instantly, he opened himself to the Force, calling out for the steadying, familiar signature of his father, yearning for guidance, instruction, _help_. He set the fabric ablaze with urgency, his plea resounding far beyond the borders of Imperial Center.

_‘Father! Help me, please!’_

A flicker of recognition soon elevated Vader’s signature above the glaring tumult, and Luke hurried to latch on to it.

‘Father–‘

The trooper’s hand on his shoulder suddenly disturbed his concentration, breaking his contact to the Force. Apparently, he had stopped in place to help himself focus and the officer, confusion added to his already intense mixture of emotions, was now motioning for him to continue.

Inwardly, Luke cursed himself for his lack of mental discipline.

_Just a few more seconds…_

Trudging onward, he attempted to call out again, but found himself unable to regain his focus that easily. He could only hope that their contact had been long enough for his father to register his situation.

_Well then, Plan B… He needed a Plan B…_

Quickly, Luke took in his surroundings.

They were now a good way from his father’s castle, crossing the Imperial Plaza, heading in the general direction of the Palace. Several groups of officials and politicians moved about, most in active conversation or even debate. Among them, there was always security - the closer to the Palace, the more armored troops he counted. Overhead Luke could make out various skylanes, although none of them was in direct air space above the Palace - and of course none of them were even remotely accessible to him. Returning to the castle, although tempting and initially logical, was out of the question: he could easily be followed inside by authenticated personnel, and would likely only navigate himself into a trap. His kidnapper - _odd word, somehow, and a bit surreal -_ would have no problems calling on enforcements; and since his father was not in the building, it would be no more of a safe haven than the open planes of Tatooine during a sandstorm. Quickly scanning what had to be considered Imperial Center’s equivalent to a horizon, large chimneys and production towers to the west drew his attention.

_Well, here goes nothing…_

Once more, Luke sought contact to the Force, and though his grip was light, fleeting, it sufficed.

A large, crashing  noise rose to their right as a flying maintenance droid hurtled itself into the side of one of the Plaza’s giant statues. Within seconds, the attention of every living person in the Palace’s vicinity was on the accident, officers and security personnel hurrying toward the site of the odd event. For a few moments, nothing else existed.

And those seconds were all Luke needed.

 

_‘Father! Help me, please!’_

His mind suddenly erupted with the Force, the desperate plea momentarily eradicating everything else from his perception; his senses instantly alive with _his_ fire, the very fabric of the Force billowing in turmoil. Agitation assaulted him, and _fear._

‘ _Father–‘_

‘Son!’ Vader replied urgently, driven by an instinctive reaction to the boy’s despair rather than conscious thought.

Yet the connection had already been severed, roughly, abruptly, his son’s signature dimming, eventually sinking back into the disturbed body of the Force. As if _drowning._

The Dark Lord was almost paralyzed for a moment, overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the contact, by its intensity. And possibly even more by its harsh end. Never before had his son’s conscious communication through the Force been so disturbed.

Never before had his son’s signature betrayed such fear.

 _Fear for his life_ , Vader knew instinctively, the acknowledgement tightening his chest, numbing his insides despite all artificial assistance.

Brusquely, the Dark Lord rose from his seat.

“Lord Vader…?” came the hesitant, slightly confused reaction. A General, standing across the conference table from Vader himself, regarded the latter questioningly. Understandably, the remaining officers presented a similar picture.

“Conclude the briefing and supply me with a full report later,” he supplied curtly, “I have an important matter to attend to.”

He barely waited for the General’s nod of affirmation before stalking out of the meeting room, his heavy footfall echoing through the corridors of the Palace’s ground floor. The Zolanders and their foolish conflict could wait.

His _son_ , on the other hand, could _not_.

Opening himself to the Force again, Vader was once more assaulted by the remnants of the boy’s desperate plea. Around him, there seemed to be only chaos, disorder. Hurriedly, he stretched out for his son’s signature, almost tearing through the waves of boundless energy, careless of the potential effects.

 _Nothing_.

The chaos was simply flooding his entire mind, _possibly the Force even._ He knew the signature _was_ there, was aware that his son was alive, yet no matter how much concentration and control he exerted, its location remained obscure, submerged within the Force.

Uttering an angry growl which puzzled his vocabulator, Vader marched towards the tunnels connecting the Imperial Palace and his own castle, almost breaking out into a run - yet the brisk walk alone cause enough for many an officer and trooper to hectically step or even jump out of his way.

The last time he had seen the boy, the latter had been in his personal quarters, performing maintenance on his R2 unit, so it would be only logical to begin from there.

Quickening his step, he soon entered the corridors of his own residence, took the turbolift up and hurried toward the boy’s private quarters.

It was immediately obvious that he was no longer there - for no matter the state the Force was in, he would have sensed him instantly at such short distance.

Unclenching the fingers of his gloved right hand, he punched his security code into the control panel of the door to the bedroom. Yet before the durasteel plates had even finished their separation, a storm of beeps, hoots and whistles erupted from within and a small, stocky shape shot out into the corridor, almost colliding with the Dark Lord’s armored legs.

The astromech.

Gazing down at it, Vader almost expected it to flee, but eventually was surprised when the droid stood his ground, expelling stream after stream of excited binary.

Despite his own agitation, Vader raised a hand in what he assumed to be a calming manner.

“Alright, slow down.”

After what could only be called a binary snort of indignation, R2 started over, even if hardly slower than before. Vader listened intently, and although some words were unfortunately lost in the excited babble, the core of the message remained intact.

Apparently, the droid had shut down for some internal maintenance routines projected to last a few hours but had reactivated beforehand due to a minor power fluctuation and a resulting reset. He had then noticed that his master was nowhere to be found and, disturbed by not being able to locate him, had gone into the security recordings.

“You say a stormtrooper came to escort him to the Emperor?”

It was hardly a question, but rather a statement of incredulity. He had not been informed of any pending meetings and, although it was more than likely that his master would not see the need to inform him when seeing  his son, he was entirely certain that the boy was not with Palpatine. As far as he was aware,  the latter would be conferring privately with some important figures of the arms- and deep-space construction industries for the rest of the day.

If the trooper had come under false pretenses, his only objective could have been the abduction of his son. And although questions about his reasons, techniques and certainly the employer found its way into his mind, they were secondary at best.

His son had been taken from him.

His own flesh and blood.

His son; barely a boy.

 _…their_ son.

In that very moment, Vader _longed_ for anger, rage, hatred, yearned for senseless destruction and mayhem, to revel in the power of the Dark Side as he had so many times before, to make use of its ferocity to further his own ends. But although he felt nothing but contempt for his son’s abductors, the rage would not set in. Instead, a numbing chill spread from his battered chest across his scarred scalp and mutilated limbs, affecting true and artificial skin alike, reducing his body to a state he had not experienced since his birth as Darth Vader, since that mind shattering revelation barely perceived on that cold, surgical table almost a lifetime ago.

His son had called for help, feared for his _life_.

And for the first time in many years - or was it decades? - Vader himself _feared._

Feared for the safety and well-being of his son.

Feared for his own sanity.

Feared losing the last shred of his former life he had taken so much care to bury.

And dread, that cunning illness, left no place for anything but itself.

“R2,” he gruffly addressed the rotund droid before him - the greeting’s familiarity lost on him in his current state, “Access the security recordings again and see if you can locate the boy, the trooper or any information on potential routes. Also, stay alert for  unusual or irregular occurrences.”

A short string of beeps followed Vader as he turned around to leave.

“There is no time. Contact me if you find anything.”

 

“What do you mean you ‘lost him’?” Leia’s voice echoed through the cockpit, her natural calm transfigured into disbelief, shock even.

The small blue holo flickered before her, as if in reaction to her outburst.

The Ambassador raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement and addressed her quietly.

“I assure you, Senator, that we are equally distressed as you are. Frankly, my contact was quite beside himself when reporting to me, muttering some nonsense about Skywalker and Lord Vader. Nerves, surely.”

Leia nodded hurriedly, the trooper’s sanity being about the last thing on her mind.

“Yes, but… What exactly happened? According to your last report, Luke had been safely taken out of the castle and was en route to the rendezvous point?!”

“That is correct. Shortly afterwards, however, an accident occurred on Imperial Plaza - something involving a maintenance droid, I hear - and it appears Skywalker used the officer’s temporary distraction to flee from the scene.”

“Why would he run?” Leia asked incredulously, unwilling to believe the very benefactor of their rescue mission had undermined their efforts.

The Ambassador looked troubled, almost apologetic.

“It seems Skywalker had not been informed about the true purpose of the mission at that point. Daros, the officer, claims to have had good reason, however.”

“Be that as it is”, Leia sighed audibly, “we need to get to him. This whole operation cannot have been for nothing.”

“Daros has taken up pursuit - Skywalker seems to be heading into the Works, the old industrial district. Quite dangerous territory. I will try to send reinforcements, but any help would be very appreciated.”

The comm console crackled.

“Count me in”, Solo replied promptly, having followed the conversation quietly thus far, “I’ve been to the Works a few times myself, so I’ll get my men and see if I can’t find the kid there. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Next to Leia, Chewbacca let out a dragged growl.

“Don’t worry, pal”, the smuggler answered, the grin on his face quite audible, “Wouldn’t want you and the Princess to end up all alone and lonely. I’ll be back with the kid before you know it.”

“I am grateful for your assistance, Captain Solo,” the Ambassador replied. “My men will coordinate with you. And, Senator, I will inform you as soon as I have news. Positive ones, I promise.”

With a final nod shared between the two politicians, the transmission was cut and dimness returned to the cockpit.

Leia leaned forward, resting her arms against the console, and began kneading her fingers.

“I don’t like this. At all,” she muttered, more to herself than to Solo over the open commline. 

“You worry too much, your Highness,” the latter instantly sounded, clearly in an attempt to cheer her up. “That boy is as nervous as a bag of fleas, but at the end of the day, he’s as innocent and docile as a newborn shaak.” He paused for a moment, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I’ll bring him back, Princess, I promise.”

 

Stars, this place _was_ big!

And a _maze_. So Luke felt only little shame at the fact that he seemed to have completely lost his way - then again, he hadn’t really had much of one to start with, had he? His priorities, after all, had been on getting the seven hells out of there, doing so fast, and making sure they wouldn’t find him again.

Even though he had left his pursuer behind miles ago, he still ran, stumbling clumsily from time to time as his legs told him to finally find some place to rest. But there was no time for such thoughts - his head still raced with the recent events, the trooper’s hatred still fresh and threatening in his mind. The fear for his own life anything _but_ forgotten.

Did that man act by himself or was he maybe part of a larger group, its members crawling all over the city, hot on his trail, to fulfill their mission? What _was_ their mission, anyway? Who had sent them? And how in the worlds had they gotten into the castle? If he wasn’t safe in his own _home,_ could he be safe anywhere?

Lost in his thoughts, Luke failed to see the thick power supply cable in time and crashed down hard onto all fours. His hands and knees instantly began to throb, and gritting his teeth, be brought himself around to sit down on the dirty ground and inspect the damage. The fabric of his pants was torn at the knees, a thin reddish film of blood seeping up through the scraped skin. His left hand was similarly chafed, some dirt and debris piercing into the raw skin. Hesitantly, he brought up his other, his _artificial_ hand.

“Oh Sithspit!”

Where his natural, biological skin had gotten away with minor scraping, the synthskin hadn’t been quite as lucky. The same debris that stung his left hand had also found its way into his right one, easily penetrating the intricate material, tearing a gash that exposed the neural net and mechanics of the ball of his thumb. The sight made him grimace. He had never had much love for his cybernetic limb, although having become more or less accustomed to it over time. It still didn’t quite feel like a true part of him - and seeing behind the pretense of a natural appearance only intensified the feeling. For a brief moment, thoughts of his father entered his mind, of his own injuries, of all the limbs and organs he must have had replaced for him to be required to live in the suit, and the emotional implications made him feel almost ashamed for his own petty complaints.

With a sigh, he flexed his neck and bent his throbbing joints. Maybe he _really_ should just stay down for a while, get some rest. His father would already be on the way to him, Luke tried to persuade himself, so sure of the Sith Lord’s superiority to all potential pursuers that he instantly attached the concepts of security and safety.

A small noise from behind startled him - _was it the scraping of boots? Hadn’t that been laughter?_

Or maybe he should keep walking, he conceded, throwing a fearful glance backwards.

Within split seconds, the dull pain was forgotten and Luke was back on his feet. Albeit slower than before - partly owing to the pain in his appendages but also an added sense of caution - he scrambled onward, deeper and deeper into the mechanical jungle of grey power lines and crimson heat.

It _really_ was a maze down here, many of the tunnels barely tall enough to stand in, others expanding into the size of respectable shipyards. Luke laughed grimly. He had always wanted to escape the castle and experience the exciting city beyond it, but this wasn’t quite how he had pictured it.

Carefully traversing a low platform, he dropped into yet another quite sizable dip, its ceiling removed rather on purpose than by mistake, exposing the area to what little sunlight made it through the sector’s ever thick blanket of smog.

“Ye lost, boy?”

Luke started, swiveling around to face the source of the heavily accented voice.

The one who had addressed him was a small, almost tiny but nevertheless heavy-set humanoid, his shabby clothes as densely grimed as his grubby face. His plump fingers curled around an ancient blaster, ready to pull the trigger should he so see fit. To each of his sides was yet another humanoid, taller than him, more muscular, but equally decrepit. And armed. Possibly bodyguards.

Luke cursed under his breath. _Out of the frying pan, into the fire…_

As his eyes began to dart around hectically in search of a potential escape route, he notice that the two larger men were stepping away from the smaller one.

_Circling me… Oh Sith, Sith, Sith!_

“Ye dun look like ye belong ‘ere”, the tiny man spoke again, his voice shrill and unpleasant. His eyes slipped up and down Luke’s body, fat lips turning into a grin, “Some fine threads y’ave there, shame they’re all torn up.”

 

The Works. Of course. What other location in the planet-wide city would his son be drawn to but the Works, the enormous industrial area which had seen the advent of the Clone Wars, birthed countless battleships _and_ was currently considered one of the most dangerous sections of the Imperial capital.

Of course his son would know where to find trouble. Then again, he supposed he should count himself lucky the boy had not found the Invisec first.

Depressing the accelerator of his speeder even further, Darth Vader still felt nowhere near as fast as he would have liked. Avoiding the auto-nav’d skylanes, he weaved past oncoming speeders, transporters and buildings alike, easily mastering critical situations which would have turned other, even expert, pilots into nothing but tiny smudges on transparisteel windows.

On other days, he would have reveled in his skills, seeking the thrills of height, speed and proximity to return some enjoyment to his life. Today, however, he had no mind for such petty pleasures.

All that mattered now was to find the boy, to recover him, return him to safety. The memory of their last contact through the Force brought unbidden companions; his son was not easily frightened, so what had caused him such fear - more importantly, what had made him sever their contact so abruptly, leaving the Force in such chaos? An answer readily suggested itself, but the father’s heart would not have it.

 _No. It was simply impossible. His son could not have been harmed_ , he insisted stoically, almost desperately, _he would have felt as much. The Force would have made him aware, no matter its condition… would it not?_

His fears were nourished by the insecurity, dread gripping his chest even tighter, making the Dark Lord wonder how much of a strain his respirator and iron lungs were able to withstand before collapsing entirely. He briefly tried to envision the sensation, recalling the countless times injuries in battle had left his breathing apparatus crippled. Was _that_ what it would feel like? Laboredly gasping for air until there was none? Pain would be irrelevant, for Vader had known more than his lifetime’s share, hardly even remembered a time without it. Perhaps there would be numbness in the end. After all, nothing would matter if…

 _No, he could not doubt. Could not give into his despair. Not now. He_ would _find him. Alive. Unharmed. The boy was strong, the Force his ally - he was destined for greater things._

 _He would_ not _lose his son._

_He could not._

_He could not lose him, too._

 

Han Solo cursed under his breath as he climbed through the intricate surroundings that were the former production facilities of the Works. He had been here many times before, some of them taking place during his service with the Imperial Forces, but none of his memories involved this much exhaustion!

_How in the worlds had Luke managed to cross such a distance in such short time? He had to have been in a real frenzy to tear through a place like this one!_

Thankfully, Daros seemed to have a decent set of legs himself and had managed to follow Luke quite deep into the facilities before eventually losing him in their maze. Still, it gave them a workable area; if he, his team and Oren’s men spread their net from the surface level, they’d find him in no time.

He just hoped ‘no time’ would still be soon enough.

_Just be safe, kid._

 

The small man stepped closer toward Luke.

“What’s ‘at in your right ‘and there? Show me!” he commanded, staring curiously at the boy’s artificial limb, obviously mistaking the exposing injury for something else.

“It’s nothing. Just my hand,” he replied, hesitant.

“I’ll see ‘at m’self,” tiny replied gruffly, then repeated, waving his blaster: “Show me!”

Seeing himself with no other option, Luke slowly raised his right hand and brought it forward, injured palm facing toward the open sky.

Intrigued, the man grabbed Luke’s hand with his left and inspected it carefully, turning it here and there, squeezing and scraping it, as if he were examining a piece of particularly expensive metal.

“Got yerself a new ‘and, eh? Quite a nice piece o’ work, ‘at is. Will fetch me a good prize!”

He grinned toothily, giving his two companions a silent sign, and Luke instantly felt sick to his stomach.

_What in the stars had he done to deserve this much bad luck? First kidnapped, then mugged by some petty criminals who were after his artificial hand? Had the situation been less serious, he surely would have laughed._

Then, just as he felt the muzzle of a blaster pressing into his lower back, something caught his eye. There was someone there, he was sure of it! Someone was approaching them on the upper level!

Unfortunately, however, one of tiny’s bodyguards had made the same discovery, and before Luke even knew what was going on, had already fired his blaster in the general direction of the newcomer. Almost instantly, a return shot was fired and shouting sounded from above.

Luke blinked. He _knew_ that voice…

“Han?”

Tiny and his companion resumed their fire, the remaining brute keeping Luke in a tight grip at a short distance. Soon, the boy’s ears rang with the sound of the shots, and he watched almost detachedly as tiny and his bodyguard were struck and crumbled to the ground in heaps. Quickly thereafter, the newcomers began dropping to their level and warily approached the remaining criminal holding Luke.

“Okay, buddy,” one of them began calmly, “take it slow. This doesn’t have to end badly for you.”

The hand tightened around his arm, and instinctively, Luke knew what was about to happen.

“If I’m going down, I’ll at least take someone with me.”

Before he had even finished the words, his finger pulled back the trigger. Strangely fascinated by the almost comical expressions of his would-be rescuers as their shock manifested in slow motion, Luke managed to squirm,  and shift the muzzle away from vital organs before a kaleidoscope of pain exploded before his eyes and he sank to the ground.

 

 

For a split second, his vision blanked entirely before erupting with the blazing brightness of pain. The Force roared around him, through him, shrieked as if it were experiencing the physical injury itself.

A wounded animal, thrashing wildly, regardless of the effects.

Vader was barely able to stop his speeder, his body now entirely numb as realization set in.

 _Luke_!

‘Luke!’ he called out through the Force, regardless of the pain in his head, the unresponsiveness of his limbs. ‘Son, answer me!’

Yet the reply came as nothing more than a feeble acknowledgement of understanding.

Fighting down a rising panic, Vader restarted the speeder, and decided to banish all conscious thought from his mind. Except one.

_He had to get to his son._

 

 

 

“Come on, buddy,” Han half-pleaded, gathering the boy’s slumped form in his lap, “Open your eyes already. You know I’m not one to fall for those stupid tricks of yours.”

Inspecting his friend closely, the smuggler’s face turned grim; the flight had taken its toll on Luke, but most of the injuries were nothing to be worried about. That blaster wound in his side, however, needed treatment. And soon.

A stir went through the blonde’s body as he slowly regained consciousness, his eyes opening and trying to focus. The almost instantaneous recognition sent a grin to the smuggler’s face.

“Han?” he asked, his voice low, almost weak, “What are you doing here?”

Solo raised a mocking eyebrow.

“Getting you out of here, of course, what else? You’re having the Princess pretty worried, you know?”

“You… shouldn’t have come,” Luke managed to press out from between his teeth as he tried to push himself up into an upright position.

“You’re delusional. _And_ you really shouldn’t be getting up!”

Nevertheless, Han grabbed the boy’s hand looking for support. It caused a peculiar tickling on his skin, and curiously, he inspected it – and almost pulled back in shock.

“What in the worlds have they been doing to you here?”

Luke only briefly glanced at his right hand and gave a tiny shrug.

“It’s nothing. I’ve had it for a while; it usually looks better than this.”

Han blinked in consternation, almost furious at the boy’s obvious disinterest.

“It’s not _nothing_! It’s a mechanical hand, for stars’ sake! What else have they done to you while keeping you here to make you _this_ indifferent?”

Luke sighed, carefully running his fingers across his side, flinching at the contact.

“ _They_ haven’t done anything to me; it was just a stupid accident. And they’re not keeping me here.”

Admittedly, he had no idea what had gotten into the boy, but he _was_ getting a little freaked.

“What are you even talking about? If nobody’s keeping you, then let’s get out of here already!”

Finally, Luke looked up, the boy’s blue eyes fixing his intently.

“You don’t understand. I’m not being kept here. But I can’t go either. I just _can’t_.”

 

Han wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. Luke had already made his choice long ago. Leaving was no longer an option. It pained him to disappoint his companions, hurt them even after they had endangered themselves for him, but the choice _had_ been made.

“Honestly, kid, you’re delirious”, Han continued, waving some of his company over to assist him, “First, we’ll get you out of here, then we’ll see to that nasty wound of yours.”

Luke shook him off, pain flaring up instantly in his side, and Solo backed away.

“No. I told you I can’t, Han. Why won’t you listen to me?”

Suddenly, the Force alerted him to a familiar presence and he immediately turned in its direction.

Excitement broke out within the small group of Rebels as Darth Vader came into view, rushing straight toward them.

Fear came off the Rebels, even Han, but the latter stood his ground, stepping even closer to his friend protectively. A funny notion that almost made Luke smile.

Within moments, his father was at his side and, after regarding him silently for a moment, knelt down and inspected his wounds.

“You are injured,” he stated plainly, his low baritone echoing throughout the site.

“It’s no big deal; just a scratch,” Luke managed with half a smile, closing his eyes against the pain. Safety. Security. The wound  really wasn’t a big deal anymore.

“I beg to differ,” he was reprimanded lightly, but soon Vader’s voice took on a darker, sharper edge as he addressed Han, “You are involved in this?”

Before Han could even begin to think of an answer, Luke pre-empted him.

“A group of criminals attacked me, one of them caught me with his blaster,” he paused for a moment, needing to gather strength to go on, “They just wanted to help me.”

He could instantly tell that his father was not satisfied with his explanation, that he knew that Luke was hiding the complete truth. Quite possibly, the boy suspected, Vader was even aware of the others’ true purpose and identity. But for the moment, he seemed too preoccupied with something else to act on it.

“Leave.”

Han, however, seemed far from happy with how things were going.

“I don’t think so,” Boldly he grabbed for Luke’s arm, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by yet another command, but one in a voice so vicious it sent a shiver up Luke’s spine.

“Don’t.”

Solo drew his hand back only slowly.

“Do _not_ try to lay a hand on my son again, if your arm is of any importance to you.”

“Father, please…”

Luke tiredly glanced at Han, even through the pain picking up the shock and disbelief in his friend’s mind as he mouthed the word ‘father’. His only answer was comprised of an exhausted smile and simple, quiet request.

“Tell the other’s I’m okay.”

Then, eventually, finally, his consciousness slipped away and the world turned a calm black.


	15. Renunciation

The boy's body bobbed slowly up and down within the translucent liquid; his movements propelled by electric stimuli rather than his own voluntary muscular contractions. A breathing mask hid much of the youthful face, pumping sweet oxygen into limp lungs, laboriously raising the scrawny chest plastered with sensor patches as white as the skin beneath them.

The motion was measured, precise.

Mechanical.

Darth Vader’s grip on his belt tightened, gloved fingers cutting into the hard artificial material beneath. Yet he failed to care. Failed to even want to do so.

His vision focused, wandering from the breathing tubes ( _no, there was no iron lung,_ he reminded himself _, just temporary assistance,_ not _replacement_ ) across the small torso to the exposed wound in his right side ( _the shot had passed through a real liver,_ he knew _, nicked ribs made of bone,_ not _metals and polymers_ ) down to his right hand ( _circuits and synth-net exposed, synthskin torn inside the protective glove,_ black _glove, but an artificial hand_ only _, no more_ ). A searching gaze travelled past white shorts to thin legs ( _skin over flesh over bone, nothing more, no telltale scars suggesting neural plates, of course_ ).

Still, the similarities were haunting, like an image taken decades ago, superimposed over the boy’s before him now to tear open those old wounds, to remind him of the man he had once been.

He had spent more than enough time in bacta tanks himself, and although his tastebuds were now scorched, withered, useless, the sickly-sweet taste remained clear in his mind, the phantom smell always an undercurrent. Much too clear for a sensation last perceived decades ago. Ever since his birth as a Sith Lord, he had had no use for the healing substance, his body no longer organic enough for it to have any effect. The injuries sustained on Mustafar, and since, were beyond healing.

But not the boy’s. Not his.

The bacteria within the precious transparent liquid were fulfilling their purpose: The injured liver was regenerating, the ribs stabilized, holding and hardening. The hand would be tended to once he had regained consciousness - repairing those delicate neural nets required that the patient be responsive during the treatment. The boy would need much rest, and be in pain for a while - bruised and broken rips could be particularly agonizing, he knew from experience - but he would be fine.

No lasting harm had been done.

Yet harm nonetheless.

In the days since he had recovered the boy and brought him back, he had hardly left his side, his thoughts in turmoil. While watching the small, almost lifeless form, his mind had begun tormenting him, his inner eye witnessing such perverse scenes that he at times feared the curse of his visions, his premonitory dreams had returned. Again, he had almost lost the boy, had had him taken from where he should have been safe, protected.

 _'But you weren't able to protect him, were you?'_ a small voice taunted him, and at first Vader was not quite sure whether the words belonged to the whispers of the dark side or a mere specter of his own guilt. _'You aren't able to protect. Never were.'_

The voice changed in pitch and tone, until the sound itself became a weight on the Dark Lord's chest, straining the iron lung. _'Not all those years ago, not now.’_

Vader could almost see those eyes, those deep umber eyes, wide in shock and disbelief, brimming with accusation. Beneath the mask, he pressed his thin lids shut against the sight.

The tone was _hers_ , but not the words. They _couldn’_ t be.

Still, for a fleeting moment, he was tempted to believe them. Tempted to place all the blame on himself as he had done so many times before. For just one moment, he longed to find solace in the admission. To find redemption in the truth. The darkness was inviting, with its false promises of oblivion and release.

Yet as soon as he reopened his eyes and took in the boy before him, _his son_ , he knew there would be no easy redemption for him. Placing the blame was no longer enough, no longer paramount.

His chance of absolution no longer lay only within himself.

Muting the intruding voice, Vader opened himself to the Force, yet paid no heed to the leering messengers so readily, eagerly offering their assistance. Instead, his mind stretched out to that signature now ever present, unwavering in its silent support. Currently, the radiant presence seemed dulled, as if in a slumber itself, waiting for the boy to arise. Vader, however, easily recognized the deeply meditative state, conducive to regeneration and healing. The fabric still rippled in response to his contact, without the slightest amount of alarm or discomfort. Even in this state, there was an instant recognition, and although the boy's presence in the Force was dulled, weakened even, that fact alone drove the poisonous whispers from Darth Vader's mind.

The boy would live.

 _His son_ would live.

That alone was enough.

 

The Princess had been furious.

For one short moment, Han had been entirely sure that she would release her anger at him, punch him, slap him. Anything. Instead, she had just stalked off, her footsteps - ringing off the durasteel floor in unerring indignation - creating a distance she had apparently needed desperately. Ever since their return, Han had seen very little of her, aware that she was consciously avoiding him.

Just as she was avoiding her own emotions.

Her anger was only partly that, the smuggler knew, the role of leader, diplomat and voice of reason she had taken on at such a young age pressing her into a corset of composure and repression. Han had seen the initial shock, disbelief, and even fear before the mask of professionalism had come down, her unwillingness and inability to accept, let alone comprehend, what had happened on Imperial Center. She had been utterly convinced that he would bring Skywalker back to them, to her, that his failure to do so had trouble registering in her set mind.

And he couldn’t blame her. Just days ago, he would never have believed an outcome like this to be even possible.

He _still_ couldn’t believe it.

However, the scenes were clear in his mind, testament to their verity.

The stinging smell of ozone blaster shots, burning fabric and charred skin still hung in his nostrils; his hand still tingled where it had come into contact with the exposed circuitry of Luke’s artificial limb.

Leaning his elbows on the console, he balled his hands into fists at the sensory memory.

_What had they done to the kid?_

Although he had left them only a short while ago, Luke had already changed drastically. Sure, he looked about the same, even if slightly scrawnier - if that was at all possible. But other than that, there seemed to be little of the farmboy innocence and unbridled Rebel enthusiasm left. In its place, Han had noticed a strange sense of gravity, of duty, of a necessary burden crippling his newly found independence and freedom. And although Han would have preferred not to acknowledge it, to simply deny he had ever witnessed the crucial moment, he was fairly certain what had effected the change in the boy.

 _Vader_.

Unbidden, memories of the moment returned.

Of the Sith Lord rushing to the boy’s side, almost taking possession of the battered body Han had gathered in his lap.

Of the _relief_ on Luke’s face upon seeing that monster.

Of the edge to the mechanical voice as it uttered those words that still threatened to send the smuggler’s mind spinning.

_‘Do not try to lay a hand on my son again.’_

_…My son…_

At first, Han had thought he might have misheard. The idea seemed so preposterous that he hadn’t even given it serious thought. Until he had seen the boy’s face, the acknowledgment and confirmation in his eyes, and had heard his low voice, weakened from the strain of the injury.

_‘Father, please…’_

Whenever he remembered the scene, Han felt like laughing bitterly at a bad joke.

Luke Skywalker, backwater farmboy from the Outer Rim, Rebel hero and destroyer of the Death Star, the son of Darth Vader, murderer and monster, second most powerful man in the entire galaxy, his infamy only surpassed by that of the Emperor himself.

Han snorted.

It seemed too ridiculous - and at the same time, Han somehow _knew_ it was the truth.

_But how?_

The smuggler remembered the boy telling him about his father, proudly spinning tall tales of Anakin Skywalker, skilled pilot and courageous Jedi Knight fighting to defend the Republic against evil, all the while running his hand admiringly along the handle of the polished lightsaber, the memento clipped securely to his belt.

In the back of his mind, something had always bugged Han about the name _Skywalker_. After all, it wasn’t the most common one in the galaxy. Vaguely, he remembered talk about a Jedi by that name, something along the lines of a ‘Hero Without Fear’ - _No, not quite, but something like that_ \- fighting in the Clone Wars, but he had been barely ten at the time of the fall of the Republic and the birth of the Empire. He had always assumed there could have been some truth to the boy’s story, but that his father had likely died in the Jedi Purges, along with thousands of others.

Vader had killed him, Luke had always insisted, and Han had considered it unlikely, but possible.

Now, in the light of the recent revelations, the boy’s words adopted a new relevance.

If Vader was truly Luke’s father, then what about Anakin Skywalker? Han was tempted to believe that the Dark Lord was merely taking advantage of the kid’s gullibility, planting half-truths and lies inside his head to get him to cooperate with whatever scheme the Imperials had in mind. Instinctively though, he knew that wasn’t the case.

And if anything, Han Solo had learned to trust his gut feelings.

Perhaps the old man had lied to Luke when he had told him that Anakin was his father.

Perhaps the Jedi Order, in their last act of despair, had taken Luke from his father - Vader -, and placed him in the care of Skywalker’s family as Anakin’s son, to protect the boy, save him from the Empire.

With a sigh, Han leaned back in his form chair.  No matter which way he turned the information, it simply didn’t make sense. He _knew_ there was a connection between Vader and Skywalker, and the former killing the latter wasn’t it. And he knew that finding out about it was the only chance of hoping to shed any light on what was happening with Luke.

He’d have to do some serious digging, and he’d have to do it soon, if he were to limit the collateral damage.

 _And_ he’d have to tell _her._

Han groaned.

How did you even do that? How could you bring somebody information like that?

 _‘Sorry, Princess, forgot to tell you that Luke is Vader’s son, and I guess he’d rather inherit the throne to the Empire and reign than destroy his daddy’s work.’_?

Yeah, right.

There was good reason he had put off informing her - his dread at her reaction an obvious candidate - but he’d have to think of something soon.

Yes, she deserved to know.

But even more so, in light of the implications, as a leader of the Rebel Alliance she _needed_ to know.

 

The first sensation to reach his wakening mind was a slow rhythmic beeping. Carefully measured and strangely muffled, it accompanied his tired struggle into consciousness, a lifeline of sound. His lids felt heavy, as if attempting to squash his efforts, but eventually gave up their resistance and fluttered open. He had expected sight, but met with temporary blindness. And new sounds.

Similar, but still different. An almost human cadence of beeps and whistles.

His numb lips turned into a lopsided smile.

“Hey buddy,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with disuse, alien to himself.

And while the excited flurry of basic continued at the rim of his mind, his remaining senses returned with a sudden rapidity that would have sent him sitting straight up, had he had that extent of control over his sluggish body.

Pressing his eyes shut, he clumsily called on the Force to steady his breathing and drowned out all external input to deal with one new sensation at a time.

First, there were taste and smell, which he could not even hope to dull. A sickly sweet aroma cloaked his tongue and permeated his nose, the gagging reflex barely suppressed.

 _Bacta_ , he recognized. _A bacta tank, most likely_. The smell was unmistakeable, and although he had never been in a tank before, he knew from stories that the aroma would stay with him for a while.

Next, he moved on to his body, the cause for the treatment, and sensed it quickly enough. His right side tingled with the formation of new tissue, likely effected by the bacta, while underneath, he felt a sting from his ribcage, the pain swelling and subsiding with his breathing.

 _The blaster shot,_ he remembered detachedly. _Seems I managed to shift that muzzle far enough after all._

Carefully prying his eyes open, he silently rejoiced the return of his vision, albeit blurry, and let his gaze wander around the room. Once again, it seemed, he had made it into the med center, the sterile walls, floor and ceiling already familiar, the monitoring instruments no longer intimidating.

To his right, the beeping gained in volume as the familiar astromech reentered the room, Two-Onebee in tow.

“It is good to see you have regained consciousness, Sir,” the medical droid began, instant reinforcement sounding from his smaller companion.

“Yeah,” Luke conceded with a tired nod, “how long was I out?”

“Three days, five hours and twenty-two minutes,” the answer came promptly, “Including forty-eight hours of full bacta immersion.”

Luke nodded. So he had been right. _Great. Carbosyrup mixed with blue milk gone bad for another few weeks._

The droid continued as he busily swiveled to and fro to check the various instruments’ readouts.

“Lord Vader brought you in unconscious, with a blaster wound to your right side and several scrapes and bruises to your legs, arms and hands. The blaster had perforated your liver, so immediate bacta treatment was essential. After I had set the three broken ribs, you were immersed.”

Again Luke nodded, aware of the stinging sensation in his chest and side, feeling the damage that was barely beginning to heal.

“The pain from your liver will lessen as the organ heals; the ribs and their surrounding muscle tissue will be painful for a while. I have set you on an alternating schedule of Nyex and Comaren to reduce the drowsiness and risk of addiction. As soon as we can lower the dosage far enough, I will see to repairing the synth-net and synthskin of your right hand.”

Luke started in surprise, his attention suddenly renewed, and looked down toward his right hand. Raising the limb from the white sheets, he studied the protective black glove and carefully peeled it back with his left. The ball of his thumb still lay exposed, cut open crudely during his flight, he remembered. His eyes remained fixed on the sable fabric for a while.

Almost like _his._

“Where is my father?” he heard himself ask, swallowing an accusing _‘I thought he’d be here.’_ Then again, he assumed his father would be furious. He _always_ was when he got himself hurt. Of course it was not like it was his fault, but experience had taught him that reasoning with a Sith Lord was about as easy as getting a good deal out of a Jawa.

“Lord Vader was summoned by his Excellency the Emperor. I will inform him of the change in your condition right away.”

Again Luke only nodded assent. Although he wasn’t quite sure if the information would actually bring his father to see him, he didn’t feel like voicing his doubts. He merely watched as the larger droid finally left the room and R2 rolled up to his bed.

With a small smile, and some effort, Luke softly placed his right hand on the rotund droid’s dome. He wasn’t entirely sure what all those beeps and whistles meant, but had - with time - become quite good at guessing from his intonation.

“Don’t worry, R2, I’m okay.”

The astromech noisily expressed his doubts at seeing his master flinch from taking too deep a breath.

Luke would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“Just trust me on this.”

More beeps and whistles, and the worry soon ascended into the shrill crescendo of reprimand.

“I know it probably wasn’t the best of ideas,” Luke admitted, his mind drifting off already. “But it seemed like the right thing at that time.”

Uninvited images ushered before his inner eye, shifting the center of his pain from his side to his chest and newly constricted throat.

Aunt Beru sitting at 5-year-old Luke’s bedside, carefully applying one of the small bacta patches that were so rare and staggeringly expensive on Tatooine to a deep gash in his ankle, mumbling sweet words of comfort and encouragement, Uncle Owen’s furious voice droning from the kitchen. There had been a strange calmness in the routine of it. They had always been there for him to patch him back up, no matter the nerves and credits it cost them. Until they suddenly weren’t.

Then came another sweet voice, very different from his aunt’s, but healing nevertheless. Her soft, small hands as she placed the blanket around his shoulders, to help him with his pain when she herself had been in so much more.

_But now…_

Luke clearly remembered the words he had spoken in Han’s presence, his friend’s shocked expression at the revelation still fresh in his mind.

_What now?_

They knew who he was now, _really_ was. What he could have become.

Still _could_ become, he supposed, even if his whole being opposed the mere thought.

Would they still trust him? Still call him their friend?

Luke sighed and closed his eyes once more, expelling their memory from his mind.

This was his way. The only way.

Even if he had to go it alone.

 

“What is thy bidding, my master?” Vader spoke measuredly, his head bowed before the older man sitting behind his desk, the small silhouette almost vanishing in the tall backed chair.

Inwardly, he almost dreaded the answer. His mind was with his son - as he had been for the past few days - and the Dark Lord was certain his master had become aware of this. In all honesty, he had not attempted to conceal the events around the boy’s kidnapping and flight, but had been too preoccupied with seeing to his safety instead. A blunder he barely regretted, yet for which his master would make him pay. If and when he saw fit.

“I have recently received unpleasant news, my friend,” the once smooth voice cracked with age and injury.

For a split second, Vader reckoned the payment for his digressions would have to be made promptly this time, the older man dispensing with his often enjoyed game of tortured waiting. His thoughts went briefly to the boy, still unconscious, but healing, he had been assured.

Alive.

He composed himself, drawing strength from that one fact alone.

The small figure leaned forward, hands folded calmly on the polished surface of the desk, void of reflection in the near darkness.

“It has been brought to my attention that, despite our apparent ‘best efforts’, the situation on Zolan seems to be escalating.”

Concealed behind the red tint of his helmet’s lenses, the Dark Lord frowned, painfully stretching skin that was barely more than scorched parchment now. Was that what he had been called for so urgently? A mere tactical briefing?

It was highly unlikely.

“No doubt you are aware of the strategic and economical value of the system. The planets and moons surrounding Zolan have some of the last resources of natural Osmium.”

“Yes, Master, the reports stated as much,” Vader acknowledged briefly. The metal was, indeed, highly valued for its hardness and extreme durability, and thus often employed in the construction of spaceships of greater quality. Still, mining would continue fairly automatically to a large part, even despite the surface disputes. Hardly a reason for concern. Certainly not the Emperor’s.

“It is also true,” Palpatine continued, “that there have repeatedly been reports about neighboring systems attempting to contact and defect to the _Rebellion_.” He spat the last word in contempt, the Alliance’s recent actions - a serious of victories, even if in rather insignificant sectors - spurning his hatred.

“As the Galactic Empire, we cannot condone such petty behavior and trivial infighting. Any resistance against the laws must be met with the harshest consequences.” With what appeared to be an almost frustrated sigh, he added: “We have been far too lax lately, my friend.”

Vader nodded in agreement, picking up easily on what was meant as a veiled reprimand.

“And that is why you will presently  travel to Zolan and rectify the situation.”

Vader found himself attempting to speak, but ultimately failing to do so. He could not leave now, he realized, not with his son’s current state of health. Leaving Imperial Center while the boy was recuperating from a serious injury, while he was _vulnerable_ , was simply out of the question. And yet he knew that there was no way he could refuse his master.

The Emperor was acutely aware of his apprentice’s hesitation, almost as if he had expected it.

“I sense your reluctance, my friend,” he conceded, his voice once more the smooth melody which had lulled so many politicians into a fatal repose. Easily he summoned tones of understanding and comfort. “You worry about the boy. That something might happen to him in your absence.”

“Yes.”

Again, the Emperor leaned forward, the hint of a smile barely visible in the twilight.

“Take him with you then,” he suggested smoothly, “Tactical and military experience will be beneficial for his future, and the travel itself should grant you some time to intensify his instruction.”

Once more, Vader hesitated, unsure of how much information to impart freely, but found himself speaking before long.

“Master, the boy is currently not in any condition to travel, let alone participate in combat. He–”

The Emperor raised a hand.

“I am aware of your son’s present condition, Lord Vader,” he interrupted, instantly confirming the Dark Lord’s assumption that his master had already been informed about the ‘incident’.

“I believe he is recuperating and should be able to leave intensive care soon after he has regained consciousness without suffering irreparable damage. The medical facilities on the _Executor_ are, as you should be aware, among the best in the entire Imperial fleet. They should be more than suited to see to his full recovery.”

Vader nodded into the silence, fully aware that his master would not tolerate any other outcome than the boy accompanying to Zolan.

“It is for the good of the boy, after all,” the Emperor added, a sad sigh escaping his lips. “Now that your relationship to him has been openly confirmed, it is only a matter of time before we will feel the repercussions, both in our ranks and those of his former companions.”

Vader’s shoulders tensed. His master knew everything, just as he had feared.

“And I assumed you might appreciate the opportunity to prepare your son just what this might entail.”

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Vader found he had to agree. The ramifications could be devastating to the boy. His former friends and allies would likely renounce him, brand him as a traitor, and many of rank in the Galactic Empire would consider him a threat to their continued success and prosperity. The potential dangers would increase exponentially, just like the hostility. All because of whom he had been born to.

“Yes. Thank you, my master…”

From his belt, Vader suddenly noticed the silent alarm of his private comlink. A high priority message. _Luke,_ he knew instantly.

The Emperor regarded him curiously, picking up on the subtle change in his apprentice.

“Very well then. I trust you will be ready to depart soon.”

Vader nodded and was about to spin around to hurry toward the med center, when his master’s voice added lowly: “And once you return, I would like to see the boy, privately. To evaluate his progress.”

 

Once again it was sound which drew Luke back into the world of consciousness. Yet instead of the incessant beeping he had become so used to, it was the equally familiar mechanical in- and exhale of his father’s respirator that caused his eyes to flutter open and tiredly search the room for the older man’s towering form.

“I see you have finally awakened,” the voice rang from the entrance.

Luke’s mind was still disoriented from days of unconsciousness and the drowsiness of medication, and so he watched quietly as his father stepped into the room, taking in the scene before him in equally silent deliberation. Neither of them spoke for a while, and an uncomfortable silence fell as Vader turned to the instruments’ readout screens with feigned interest.

In all honesty, Luke was surprised his father had actually come to see him. Considering what had brought on his condition, he had expected his father to continue to shun him in quiet fury. Punishment through isolation.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he ventured finally.

The statement instantly drew his father’s attention, and the ebony mask turned his way, giving him an unreadable look.

“Why would you say that?”

An honest question. No pretense, but true bewilderment, Luke could have told as much even without perceiving his father’s presence in the Force.

Despite his own resolve, he felt himself blush, suddenly feeling foolish for doubting his parent.

He averted his gaze.

“Two-Onebee said the Emperor had called you for an urgent meeting.” He attempted to justify.

“So he did,” the answer came simply, and Vader turned to fully face his son.

The boy knew that his father was not quite satisfied with his explanation, his silence allowing him to further explain himself.

“And I thought you were mad at me,” he added eventually, his eyes fixed on the gloved hand in his lap, his left hand absentmindedly tugging at the dark fabric.

“Of course I am.” Vader answered promptly, and Luke almost flinched at the marked assertion. “It was not enough that you once again managed to get yourself into trouble despite all precautions. But you also suffered a serious injury which could have very well led to your death had I not found you in time. So yes, I _am_ mad.”

Luke bit his lower lip at the accusation, his father’s tone stunning him into a momentary silence.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, soft, but determined.

“They would _never_ have let me die.”

“ _They_?” Vader almost spat, barely in control of his rising fury. Whether it was against his son or his would-be rescuers, Luke couldn’t be sure. “ _They_ were the reason for your predicament! _They allowed_ you got be injured in the first place!”

Luke briefly glanced over at his father, his gaze steady.

“ _They_ were there to rescue me, to get me out of here. _They_ were my _friends_.”

He waited for another angry comeback, but there was none. Nothing but the ever-present, measured mechanical breathing.

“I could have gone with them. Maybe I even _should_ have,” he added softly into the silence. “But I didn’t.”

Even despite his senses being dulled by the medication, Luke felt the Force flare around him. The amalgam of barely contained emotions assaulted his tired mind, and he only peripherally registered the dark undercurrent of… _was it fear_?

He closed his eyes and expected to hear the hammering of his father’s footsteps against the polished floor as he hurried out of the room, searching to escape the confrontation, but only the silence rang deafeningly. Silence and his father’s rhythmic breathing.

Although Luke was glad that Vader had stayed, decided to face his son’s truth, he felt awkward, suddenly aware that their confrontations had never taken this turn before, never ended with both of them in the same room, resolving their issues. And suddenly, Luke felt very self-conscious, the drowsiness gone, instantly eradicated by the unspoken tension.

He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable against the sunken pillows, and found himself flinch at the sudden sting from his ribs. From the corners of his eyes, he saw his father’s hands twitch ever so slightly in subconscious reaction to his display of pain.

“I’m okay”, he assured hastily, “Just a little sore around the wound.”

A strange sound escaped his father’s vocabulator - the misinterpretation of a derisive snort, Luke ventured an intelligent guess.

“I would assume the injured ribs and muscles to still be quite painful,” he heard his father comment, “You should be thankful for the medication.”

Luke looked at him curiously.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience–” he began lightly, but instantly reprimanded himself. Of course his father knew pain. Pain of an extent he would possibly - _hopefully_ \- never experience.

“I…” Vader replied nevertheless, brushing aside the gravity of the memories. “I was not unlike you when I was your age. I suffered my share of injuries. Even before I became what I am now.”

Luke knew what pain the recollection caused his father, and all the more appreciated his sharing this part of his former existence with him. Those moments were rare, and he had learned to treasure them, draw strength from them when his determination faltered and his choices seemed doubtful.

“Were you ever in a bacta tank?” Luke tried innocently, coaxing the information from the older man. “That taste, and the smell…” He grimaced. “You’d think they’d have found a way of making it less… gross…”

Vader nodded simply.

“Yes, I remember”, he answered slowly, “The taste will stay with your for a while yet. I am not quite sure it will ever fully disperse.”

Luke looked at him in mock horror, trying to lighten the mood.

“Wonderful.”

There were so many more things he wanted to ask his father, but he knew not to push his luck. Even if Vader had opened up to him a little, he could just as easily shut himself away again, withdraw into himself. Leave him alone once more as he had done so many times before.

“When can I go home?” he tried instead, surprised by his own choice of words.

_Home…_

Vader tensed at the question, and Luke briefly wondered whether his father had reacted to the wording.

“I am afraid you may not return for quite,” he supplied finally.

“Huh?”

Luke frowned, but waited for his father to continue.

“As you already know, I was summoned by the Emperor. He commanded me to travel to Zolan to resolve the escalating conflict personally.”

The boy sat up quickly - too quickly - and was instantly rewarded with yet another sharp pain from his ribcage.

“When are you leaving?”

“Soon.”

“But–”

“ _But_ you will accompany me.”

Luke blinked rapidly, disbelieving.

“You’re taking me with you?”

Another odd sound from the vocabulator - _a sigh?_

“Yes,” Vader answered gravely, quite obviously anything but pleased with the turn of events. “It is my master’s express wish. We will leave tonight. Two-Onebee will prepare your files so that the medical staff on the _Executor_ can resume your treatment.”

Luke’s first reaction was one of pure excitement at the thought of a possible adventure. _Finally_ he’d be able to get out and _do_ something instead of being cooped inside all the time. Faint images of traveling on his father’s flagship, being among the stars, possibly getting a chance to pilot a snub again, feeling the pressure of gravity squeezing him deep into the cushions of his seat caused his heart to flutter with exhilaration.

His second reaction pulled him back into the present, to his room in the med center, his bed, the instruments and medication. He had only regained consciousness barely an hour ago; the painkillers still dulled his senses, and he wasn’t quite sure if he could even trust his legs to keep him upright. The idea of falling flat on his face while stepping out onto the deck of his father’s flagship wasn’t really thrilling. Not exactly the impression he wanted to make, especially not after the show he had given them on his last stay. Absentmindedly, he looked down at his artificial hand, remembering at once the glove and the damage it concealed.

“What about this?” he looked up at his father, raising the hand from the sheets.

Vader regarded him for a moment.

“The medical staff on my flagship should be sufficiently equipped to make the necessary repairs. They often provide assistance to me as well.”

Luke nodded slowly, a mixture of emotions he was not quite prepared to describe welling up at the seemingly innocent response.

“Well, I guess I’d better start packing then.”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Leia demanded, her anger at having been called from a rather important tactical meeting with their scouting teams still unabated.

General Vernan motioned her to take a seat at the large oval table taking up much of the meeting room.

“I am sorry to disturb you so rudely, but I assure you that this matter is of express urgency and cannot wait,” Mon Mothma explained calmly across the table. Leia regarded the older woman carefully, and upon recognizing the sense of gravity darkening her features, relented and sat down, letting her gaze sweep over those present in hopes for any clues to the nature of this assembly.

Beside Mon Mothma and General Vernan, current Chief of Intelligence to the Rebel Alliance, Leia noticed Military Advisor Jan Dodonna – all three members of Alliance High Command, a fact that served little to calm her nerves. The head of the table was occupied by the blue flicker of Ambassador Oren’s hologram, to his right sat the man Leia identified as Daros, to his left Nirlan and Barada. In surprise, she noticed Han Solo and Chewbacca standing off toward the back of the room, their expressions tense.

With a sinking feeling she understood what was about to take place and gripped the armrests of her formchair to fend off the rising panic.

Alliance High Command _knew_. Someone had ratted them out.

“Daros here,” Mon Mothma gestured to her right, instantly confirming Leia’s suspicions, “has brought to our attention that you were recently involved in a covert mission on Imperial Center to retrieve Commander Skywalker. An _unofficial, unsanctioned_ mission, I might add.”

The Princess nodded, aware that all she could do now was to try and limit the collateral damage.

“Yes, that is true,” she confirmed, but quickly went on, desperate to have her side heard as well, “We had received information on Commander Skywalker’s whereabouts and, considering the nature of said intel, felt we had to act quickly and quietly if we were to have any chance of rescuing him.”

Mon Mothma raised her hand, palm outward, to silence the Princess.

“Be that as it may, such behavior cannot be condoned and will - as I am sure you are aware - have to be met with sanctions, for you as well as all others involved.”

Leia opened her mouth to speak, to try to explain herself, but the Rebel leader preempted her.

“ _That_ however is not why we meet here today. According to the report we received - and evidenced, of course, by his absence - Commander Skywalker appears to have chosen to remain on Imperial Center with Lord Vader, and even though I value Skywalker’s contribution to our cause, such behavior alone forces us to assume he has indeed defected to the Empire.”

All of her composure instantly forgotten, Leia jumped out of her chair.

“What?” she almost laughed in disbelief, “That is preposterous! We all know Luke would never– ”

“Please, Senator…” It was Oren’s turn now to interrupt her. “Hear us out.”

Still aghast, she looked back and forth between Oren and Mon Mothma.

“Although it may seem improbable, it is the only natural conclusion, in light of the information which has been presented to us.” The woman spoke calmly.

“What _information_?” Leia asked, wondering what could possibly justify so ludicrous an idea.

“The nature of the relationship between Lord Vader and Commander Skywalker.”

“What are you talking about?” Leia shot back.

“That Skywalker is Vader’s son”, Daros stated calmly.

Now the Princess _did_ laugh.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” she snorted, “Someone has obviously planted that information!”

Oren’s hologram shook its bluish head sadly.

“No,” he replied simply, “our men witnessed the exchange between Lord Vader and Command Skywalker first hand. There can be no doubt.”

Leia felt herself swimming at the accusations against Luke and spun around to Solo, hoping for the smuggler to take her side, steady her against the insanity.

And although he managed to hold her stare, Leia saw the pain in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Princess.”

Leia was aware that she gaped, but she could care less. Her mind was unwilling - unable - to register the information and instead retaliated.

“That does not prove anything! Vader is a monster; for all we know, he planted that information just to use Luke!”

Letting out a tired sigh, Mon Mothma folded her hands on the table and fixed Leia with steady eyes.

“That may well be the case, but it does not change the facts. There will be an official hearing on Skywalker’s cause, but Alliance High Command cannot deny the facts.”

“You’ll declare him a traitor.” It was more stunned realization than question, disbelief rather than doubt.

“It seems the only logical outcome, I am afraid,” she nodded.

Leia opened her mouth, but could find no words to express the turmoil inside her. Instead, she staggered backwards, knocking over her chair and stormed from the meeting room. At other times, she would have been ashamed at the lack of etiquette, yet right now, it was the last thing on her mind.

She walked quickly, almost broke into a run. There was no destination, just distance. Maybe if she ran far enough, she could escape this travesty, find reason again. Sanity.

Behind her, she heard the hammering of heavy boots.

 _Solo_ , she knew immediately. But she wouldn’t stop for him; he was no better than them.

“Princess!” she heard him call after her, “Leia, wait!”

She did not stop, but his legs were longer, his run faster, and he caught up to her easily, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around, not letting go.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Leia felt her free hand shoot forward and slap him loudly. Yet despite the instant blooming of crimson across his cheek, he held on to her tightly, meeting her gaze.

“Let go of me,” she demanded, her voice much less stable, much less strong than she would have hoped.

“No, not like this,” he shook his head determinedly. Absentmindedly, his free hand found his swelling cheek and he gave her a lopsided grin, “I guess I kind of deserved that one.”

Her temper flared up once more at the mention of his part in this farce.

“You should have told me!” she spat, “I could have stopped this; now they are jumping to all the wrong conclusions!” She was aware that she was rambling, but didn’t find it in herself to stop. “How can they even believe all this? Luke, a traitor, and the son of Vader, of all things? Stars, it’s so ridiculous!”

Leia felt the smuggler bringing both hands up to her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

“The kid’s no traitor, I’m with you all the way on that,” the affirmed, holding her gaze, “but he _is_ Vader’s son.”

She attempted to shrug him off, but his hold was too strong.

“That’s absurd, and you know it.”

He shook his head.

“It _is_ , but it’s still true. I _saw_ them, Princess, the way they acted around each other, heard them talk… Man, Vader almost tore my arm off for trying to help the kid!” He paused for a moment, the scene quite likely playing back before his inner eye. “I saw it in his face, Leia. Maybe I’m going mad, or that old fossil Kenobi used some of his Force mojo on me, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t true.”

Leia regarded him quietly for a while. She had never known the smuggler to lie - to _her_ , at least - and his sincerity and certainty constricted her chest and throat. Her shoulders slumped as her resistance caved.

“I don’t believe you.” She spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Not until you prove it to me.”

She heard him sigh.

“I will. And I think I know where to start.”

 

Luke watched with mild interest as Two-Onebee laid out a number of patches of varying sizes, colors and shapes on the tray next to his bed. His father stood off toward the entrance as to not disturb the treatment even though Luke knew he found it hard not to have direct control of the situation.

“First your arm, Sir,” Two-Onebee requested, and waited patiently as Luke carefully pushed back the sleeve of his right arm where a small catheter punctured his skin on the inside to ease administration of his medication.

He steadily held out the limb and observed as the hypodermic needle entered the small shaft and the bluish liquid pushed its way into his veins. _Nyex this time_ , he knew. The effect was almost instant, and a pleasant numbing sensation overtook his midsection. 

As soon as the needle was fully emptied and withdrawn, Luke rolled the sleeve back down.

“Now your side, Sir,” the droid continued, and motioned for Luke to free the skin above his healing blaster wound.

Flinching ever so slightly at the unpleasant movement, he pulled the fabric of his shirt up toward his chest, exposing the tender flesh, pink scars already vanishing.

Without any further word, the surgical droid set back to work, applying patch after patch strategically. _A special type of kinetic tape_ , he had been informed, with the addition of a low dosage of painkillers and heat-inducing substances to aid the healing of his ribs and the muscular tissue surrounding them.

After a few minutes, the procedure was finished and Luke let go off the fabric, allowing it to slide back down.

“Now there are a few things I would like you to observe–” Luke heard Two-Onebee begin his litany of cautionary instructions as he slid off the bed, when a sudden wave of emotion collapsed over him and sent him crashing to his knees. He was instantly aware of his father rushing to his side, his strong hands steadying him carefully by the shoulders, but he heard none of the urgent inquiries.

For moments, the strength of the emotions drowned him, and there was nothing but the tumultuous chaos of the Force swelling around him, battering him with fury, sadness, worry of extents he had never experienced before. He gasped for breath, struggled for control despite the daze in his mind, and then, in an instant, it all stopped. The change was so sudden that he felt initially disoriented.

Only slowly did his perception return. He felt his father’s strong grip around on his shoulders, heard the anxious appeals.

“…-re you alright? Son?”

Taking as deep a breath as his injured ribcage allowed, he tried to steady himself.

“I’m okay,” he managed, his voice still shaky, serving little to dispel his father’s apparent worry.

“You most certainly do not appear that way,” he heard as he was helped to sit back down on the bed.

“I am, really,” he answered, his mind still unsteady, but at least clearing, and looked up at his father.

“Perhaps it is still too soon for you to move,” Vader returned thoughtfully, and was about to turn to Two-Onebee when Luke urgently cut him off.

“No!” He was surprised at the sudden strength in his own voice. “That… had nothing to do with my injuries. It was something in the Force. I don’t… know what exactly, though.”

His father regarded him quietly for a moment, and Luke wasn’t sure whether he was contemplating if the boy had said the truth or busying himself with deeper, darker meanings.

“Are you certain?”

Luke nodded and, as if to prove his resolve, slid off the bed again, this time coming to stand on his own two feet, albeit with a noticeable wobble.

“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” he said, a lopsided grin playing on his lips.

Vader awarded him another long stare, seemingly hesitant to believe his son, but eventually turned around and began making his way to the door, waiting for Luke to follow suit.

Slowly, the boy stalked after him, yet while his wobbling gait soon turned steady, his mind was still on the emotions that had assaulted him only moments ago.

They certainly hadn’t come from his father, he was sure of that.

_But from whom, then?_


	16. Whispers

“Remember what I have told you,” Darth Vader’s baritone reminded curtly as he and his son waited for the shuttle ramp to be lowered. The latter rewarded him with nothing more than a short glance, yet the Dark Lord would not have been surprised to see an annoyed rolling of the eyes as well.

“I am not to interrupt, ask any unnecessary questions or address you as ‘Father’”, he dutifully repeated.

“Very well,” the tall figure commended, “You will follow me until told otherwise.”

Instantly, he felt a hint of annoyance ripple through the Force, accompanied by an almost reflexive urge to shake off the figurative chains. Another Skywalker trait which ran particularly strongly in the boy. One he would have to be careful to keep in check.

In all honesty, Vader felt a strange twinge of wariness. Ever since his Master had commanded him to go to Zolan and have the boy accompany him, he had not been able to shake the feeling, although he had to admit to being quite unsure why. The mission itself should not prove much of a challenge; at other times, he would have been exhilarated at the prospect of escaping the political trappings of Imperial Center and joining his troops to fight at the front lines. Traveling with his son would also allow him to devote more time to the instruction of the boy, and presently supply knowledge and assistance in areas which had so far been forced to remain neglected.

And yet something seemed… off. He made a note to meditate on it when he found the time.

Under the sharp, resonant hiss of the hydraulics, the shuttle ramp finally lowered, filling the small vessel with a cornucopia of sounds and smells from the _Executor_ ’s immense primary hangar.

Almost on reflex, Vader’s legs set into motion, his boots producing a hollow echo off the durasteel planks.

From his peripheral vision he observed his son hesitate, the Force radiating with his surprise and awe. It seemed the boy had still not become fully accustomed to his own standing within the Imperial military, much less the decorum it entailed.

To the Dark Lord himself, the current sight was hardly exceptional: a platoon of stormtroopers - most hailing from his infamous 501st, he recognized instantly - and another two dozen officers stood at attention on both sides of the ramp to welcome their commander. And although most of those men had served under Vader for years, one could not deny the tension thickening the air.

The atmosphere was quickly affecting his son as well, and Vader felt the youth grow tense and wary; a brief nudge of reassurance through the Force served to finally set the boy into motion to hurry after his father.

As soon as the curious pair reached the bottom of the ramp, they were joined by Admiral Piett, who saluted sharply.

“Welcome aboard, Lord Vader,” he said simply, knowing his superior preferred to keep formalities brief, reduced to the absolute minimum. His glance briefly brushed over Luke, yet he acknowledged him with only a nod. Vader felt the curiosity in the commanding officer, but valued the fact that he refrained from trying to satisfy it. At the same time he was quite aware that he would soon have to address the issue of Luke’s identity if he wanted to keep him safe, especially once he left his flagship for the front lines.

“What is the situation, Admiral?”

“The Zolander army has been pushed back further by the advancing Clawdite factions, the capitol is expected to fall to invasion within the day. Our troops have assisted in fortifying the city walls, but there are simply not enough men to uphold the barricade. Most of our forces are defending the Osmium mines on Zolan itself and its moons so that our mining operations are not disturbed.” Piett recapitulated, while the trio continued across the hangar and toward the turbolift.

“The Emperor has made it clear that the mines are to be protected under any circumstances”, Vader commented. “We will need to find other means of ending the conflict than by simply outnumbering the foe.”

“I have already assembled the command staff and tactical advisors and established communications to our commanders on Zolan. We may begin presently, Sir.”

“Very well. Let us not waste any more time,” Vader nodded, pleased that Piett had been thinking ahead. He was certainly proving himself a competent officer; a much better choice than his predecessor.

As they stepped into the confines of the turbolift capsule, the Dark Lord briefly turned toward his son, sensing the curiosity in the boy.

“You will accompany us,” he stated simply, “Be sure to pay attention.”

Luke only nodded.

 

Although Luke wasn’t quite sure if he believed in the phenomenon itself, he had to admit to a slight sense of déjà-vu as he stood in the enormous situation room of his father’s flagship. Then again, he supposed, it was to be expected - there were regulations and protocols governing almost every aspect of military life, after all, and tactical meetings were in fact designed to be similar in nature.

As his gaze swept the room, he thought he recognized some of the faces of the men clad in olive and white; maybe he’d met them the last time he had traveled on the _Executor_. The thought instantly sent the heat of embarrassment rushing through his body, setting his face aflame with a deep crimson he sincerely hoped nobody had taken notice of. His last visit had hardly gone well, and he secretly suspected that his flight had earned him quite some infamy among the crew. Especially considering how unceremoniously the whole ordeal had ended.

Well, things would be different this time. He’d prove to them that he wasn’t just a clumsy farmboy from a Force forsaken planet in the Outer Rim anymore.

With true interest, he watched as the holoprojector in the center of the room snapped to life and spat out an impressive greenish sphere almost the size of a TIE fighter’s cockpit. Having expected that Admiral Piett would head the meeting, he was surprised when another officer sporting an olive uniform stepped forward to address everyone present.

Four red chips above an equal line of blue ones, plus a code cylinder - a General, Luke recognized.

“As you should be aware,” he began in a sonorous voice, “the situation on Zolan is rapidly turning critical. The capital–” a small spot in the northern hemisphere of the holo suddenly came alight in a deep red, “has so far been able to withstand the Clawdite forces. However, sentinels have reported that small factions are already crossing the Greater Lakes toward the south.” Upon the words, a large body of water slightly below the red dot was highlighted, several dotted lines flitting across the shape. “Bombardment has so far proven ineffective against their machinery - our engineers suspect that the Clawdites have managed to take possession of one or more of the smaller Osmium mines and used the ore to strengthen their outer hulls of their assault vessels. Needless to say that repossession of the mines is to take high priority. Zolander forces also speak of troops invading from the Syre Ridge toward the north, but we have yet been unable to confirm these speculations. Our men estimate that, at the current speed of advancement, invasion will take place within the day.”

Luke’s gaze jumped back and forth between the General and the holo as the man spoke. He had to admit that the situation looked serious; but really serious enough to send the Second in Command into the battlefield?

“What of our spies?” he heard his father ask, almost impatiently, “Have you established contact?”

The General seemed to grow nervous at the question, his eyes flicking to the floor for a second. Luke couldn’t blame him - Vader was quite the fearsome figure when dealing with his inferiors. Such a different person from the one he had come to call ‘father’.

As he regarded the ebony mask, still contemplating the duality of the man’s character, something else tugged at his mind, demanding his attention.

The content of the meeting forgotten momentarily, he curiously opened himself to the Force - only to sever the connection again almost instantly at the dark assault. Trying his best to keep his composure, he tentatively opened his mind once more and looked around himself. Staring glances were quickly averted when he tried to meet them, and the Force shone with curiosity, whimpered with fear.

_What in the worlds was this?_

The last time he had accompanied his father, he had also perceived the emotions of the officers surrounding him, at that time had felt almost smothered by their disdain and negativity. This time, however, something was different. There was so much fear, and not just toward his father.

Luke felt disoriented for a moment, the meeting almost forgotten, and instinctively turned to his father for support.

_‘Father, what’s going on here?’_

_‘Not now, son,’_ came the prompt reply, and Luke bristled dejectedly at being brushed off.

Apparently, his father had perceived his reaction, and a sigh of frustration rang through the Force.

_‘I have felt it as well. But do not concern yourself with it, my son. I will investigate the matter in due time.’_

Luke hardly felt comforted by the assertion but realized that he had little choice than to wait. Unless he wanted to make a fool of himself once again. So he decided to, for once, do as he was told, and pay attention.

Now that he had been made aware of the atmosphere around him, however, concentration proved far more difficult than before and, as if to annoy him even further, he felt the tingling of the wound in his side intensify and turn into a dull pain, ebbing in and out in sync with his breathing. It seemed that the Nyex was already wearing off. Absentmindedly, he ran his left hand across the fabric above the wound and tried to concentrate once more on what was being said.

“–perhaps my presence can motivate their leaders to begin _negotiations_ ,” he heard his father say.

“Milord, our safe perimeter is likely to have been invaded by the time we reach orbit above Zolan. We could not guarantee–” the General responded with some unease, but Vader cut him off.

“Safety is a luxury in times of conflict, General. I will assemble a strike team to accompany me; I will leave it to you to ensure the repossession and fortification of the mining facilities.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The remaining officers seemed to recognize this as a sign that the meeting had ended and began filing out of the room. Luke felt some of his tension fall off as the crowd dispersed leaving only him, the guards, his father and Admiral Piett. As Vader continued to study the holo, his mind no doubt on the mission ahead, Luke watched as Piett stepped up to his superior and addressed him quietly.

“Lord Vader, if I could have a word with you.”

His father spoke without averting his gaze from the holographic planet, his sable mask bathed in an aura of blues and greens.

“You may speak your mind, Admiral.”

Piett briefly glanced at Luke before he spoke, leaving the boy with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I believe it would be best if we could talk in private”, he paused for a moment, then added, “Without the boy.”

Luke felt his father bristle at the suggestion, aware that he would prefer to keep him under his own watchful gaze. For a moment, he thought the older man would decline, but was surprised when the dark figure turned to one of the troopers standing guard at the entrance.

“Take the boy to the med center. I have transferred his files; see to it that his treatment is begun immediately.”

“Yes, Sir.”

After a moment’s silence, during which his father seemed to be lost in thought, he added:

“And stay with him until I relieve you.”

Luke stared in mild shock as his father and Admiral Piett stepped out of the room and vanished down the corridor.

_Had he just gotten a babysitter?_

 

As Darth Vader followed Admiral Piett into the small, private communications chamber, he could not help feeling curious as to what news might be so important as to be brought before him under the cloak of secrecy. Under other circumstances, he would have commanded the Admiral to impart his knowledge then and there, yet he felt - and knew, of course - that the officer was honest. What spurned his curiosity even more, however, was that Piett seemed to consider himself doing Luke a favor by excluding him. Vader’s impatience grew as his mind played through the various possible scenarios, each more tiring and unpleasant than the one before.

Needless to say, he had a bad feeling about it.

When the door had finally slid shut behind them, Vader was about to usher Piett on, but found the officer beginning to speak of his own accord, thankfully.

“Milord, something was brought to my attention just after you arrived, which, I believe, deserves your consideration.”

Vader crossed his arms before his chest in impatience.

“What is it, Admiral? Make it brief, for I have other duties to attend to.”

With slight surprise he watched the other man working the controls of a nearby holovid, and pause for a moment to say:

“This report was broadcast on INN1 just as your shuttle had left Imperial Center.”

Vader’s chest constricted at the words, forcing the iron lungs into a faster rhythm as realization dawned on him. INN1, _Imperial News Network 1_ , the Galactic Empire’s largest and most successful holovid news channel - and the most voracious, presumptuous one, Vader amended drily. It could only mean one thing…

His worst suspicions were instantly confirmed as Piett replayed the recording and the concepts of secrecy and protection collided with public knowledge in a spectacular crash.

A smug, over-excited reporter stared into the camera, barely able to contain himself, as he announced the monumental news:

“What you are about to hear, Ladies and Gentlemen, is quite likely the news of the century - no, the millennium! So grab a seat, put away those drinks and keep your eyes and ears peeled as we bring you: the first images of the son of Lord Vader! Yes, you heard right!”

Vader froze as the figure on the screen turned toward a recording of the events which had unfolded in the Works just a few days ago, missing enough breathing cycles to feel a strange airiness overcome his senses. It was only through the dulling layers of shock that he heard the report.

“–see here took place in the Works a few days ago. It appears that the youth was attacked by a small group of criminals and subsequently wounded in a blaster fight, in which yet another group - whose origins are so far unknown - was involved. As you can see, Lord Vader soon arrives on the scene and rescues the boy. During their brief exchange, you can easily hear both referring to each other as ‘father’ and ‘son’.”

Sure enough, the audio was cripplingly clear, and for a short moment, Vader felt tempted to lose himself in the dark side’s taunting. It billowed ominously around him, whispering slyly with sweet promises of revenge and oblivion through power. Briefly, the Dark Lord closed his eyes behind the impenetrable mask and focused on nothing but his breathing.

 _Patience_ , he told himself. _Control_.

There would come a time for revenge, but this was not it.

Subduing the untamable darkness for the moment, he opened his eyes again and once more focused on the news report. The picture now showed a closeup of Luke, far too clear to be mistaken for someone else, rotating three-dimensionally.

“Although a full biographical profile is yet to be established, the boy’s first name seems to be ‘Luke’, and he appears to be in his mid to late teens. So far, no official statement has been made, and Lord Vader and his son are currently off-world to attend to military matters and are not available for comments. Yet a public announcement is expected for the Empire Day festivities. Some sources speculate that Lord Vader’s son will then be initiated as heir to the Empire. In any case, INN1 will keep you–”

Piett stopped the recording and turned off the holovid, yet Vader remained rooted to the ground, staring at the empty screen. No matter how dearly he would have liked to believe the contrary, there was no way of stopping and reverting the damage now. Holovid channels and the holonet ensured that the news would have reached even the Outer Rim territories by now, and within a week, Vader assumed, every single being in the galaxy would be aware of the boy’s identity.  The days of secrecy and - relative - security were over. Whatever enemies he himself had, would now likely primarily target the boy, as the seemingly more vulnerable mark. If he were to provide even the least bit of safety, he would have to act quickly.

Swiftly, he turned around and addressed Piett.

“Gather the command crew and my leading officers. I intend to make an announcement.”

“Yes, Milord.”

 

 

 _I really have a babysitter,_ Luke thought with mild levels of annoyance as he watched the stormtrooper hovering near the door to the treatment room in the _Executor’s_ medical center.

What had gotten into his father for him to grow that suspicious? To be honest, he didn’t have the best track record, but certainly his father had to know that he wouldn’t try to run anymore?

With a sigh, he shifted his gaze from the trooper and regarded the small astromech at his side. Although not allowed in the meeting - Luke wasn’t entirely sure why - R2 had joined him immediately afterwards. A small gesture for which he was incredibly thankful. Of course there was more than enough of a bustle to keep his mind occupied, still the familiar presence reassured him, calmed him.

His left hand gently patted the small dome as a medical droid administered a new dose of Comaren through the catheter in the crook of his right arm.

“I will now prepare the instruments for the repairs of your prosthetic,” the unit said with measure, “However, Lord Vader has left instructions to delay the procedure until he arrives.”

Luke blinked in surprise, but eventually nodded.

“Alright, I can wait.”

For a brief moment, Luke felt the stormtrooper’s eyes on him even more acutely, along with the same strange mixture of curiosity and fear he had perceived during the meeting.

_Well, if he’s stuck here with me, might as well make use of him!_

He fixed the trooper in an intense stare.

“What is it?”

The trooper straightened slightly.

“Nothing, Sir.”

 _“Sir?”_ Luke laughed, R2’s beeping soon joining the sound. “I’m no ‘sir’.”

When no further comment came from the man, Luke made a second attempt.

“Come on, I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I believe I am not at liberty to say, Sir.”

“‘Not at liberty to say?’ Come on, you can tell me,” Luke coaxed, “I won’t rat you out.”

He’d find out what was going on here, he promised to no one in particular, no matter how long it would take.

 

 

Darth Vader stood at the head of the table in the _Executor’s_ primary meeting room, his command crew occupying the chairs, other leading officers standing behind them. While there was no nervous murmur, the tension was easily palpable even to those not sensitive to the Force.

Known to be direct in the truest sense of the word, the Dark Lord addressed the issue at hand without further ado.

“I assume most of you are aware of a certain news report concerning my relationship to the boy who is accompanying me. I have called you here to affirm that the information is indeed correct, that he _is_ my son.” He paused for a moment. Still there was not a single word spoken by his audience; the officers simply regarded him silently.

“In light of these facts, I charge you all with the safety of the boy. He is not to come to harm. Under any circumstances.”

A few heads nodded in affirmation, and a word or two of assent flitted through the air.

“My son is of infinite value to the Empire and will be treated with respect.”

After a brief moment of silence he added with a dangerous edge to his voice:

“Failure to act accordingly will _not_ be tolerated.”

 

Luke perceived his father's presence long before he ever saw his towering stature enter the medical center. That fact itself was hardly novel to him, of course. His father’s signature was so intense, so familiar that there was hardly a moment he was not aware of it - now, it was the pure strength of emotions disrupting the Force in the wake of the older man's arrival which was so extraordinary and alerted Luke.

Something had obviously happened - and he was willing to bet that it was connected to what the trooper was so diligently refusing to tell him.

Within moments of the mental alert, the automatic doors to Luke's treatment room slid apart to grant passage to the sable form of his father.

Almost as if startled by the sudden intrusion, the guard snapped to attention and saluted briskly.

"Return to your post, Corporal." Vader commanded briefly. Although his carefully regulated voice would not have betrayed any emotion to the average observer, to Luke it hissed with tension and frustration barely contained.

_Not a good sign._

"Yes, Milord."

Another sharp salute, followed by the repeated hiss of the door mechanism, and father and son were left alone, in silence.

For a moment, both regarded each other, the rasp of the older man's respirator providing a calming, almost hypnotic soundtrack.

All the while, Luke's curiosity nagged at him, ushered him to ask about what was bothering his father so, and repeatedly he set to form the words, but eventually found himself unwilling. Perhaps, just this once, it would be better to wait.

After a prolonged silence, Vader finally stepped up to the bed on which his son sat and briefly studied the datapad on the adjoining table.

"It seems your vitals are stable and the neural output of the synthenet strong enough to finish repairs on your hand," he commented detachedly, as if still preoccupied with other matters.

Luke nodded, regarding his father curiously.

"Yeah. 2-1B did the checkup a while ago. A thorough one, too," he replied with a hint of impatience.

Vader, it seemed, had picked up on the sentiment despite his own preoccupation and promptly supplied a mild reprimand.

"You would be advised to learn to appreciate thoroughness. Negligence and impatience concerning your health will serve no one but your enemies."

The boy fell silent at the seriousness in his father's words and merely watched as his gloved fingers keyed a sequence into the small, internal communications console to summon the surgical droid.

Within moments, the skeletal figure entered and immediately addressed his father.

"Sir, I have completed the preliminary examinations and prepared the necessary materials. May I begin the treatment?"

Vader merely nodded in reply, and made no move to step away as 2-1B began to execute his preprogrammed routine.

"It would be beneficial if you could lie down, Sir," he addressed his patient in that surprisingly soft voice of his.

"Sure."

Luke complied and moved down on the bed, trying not to upset his ribs in the movement.

"Now your hand, please."

He lifted his right hand and watched in surprise as 2-1B gently placed it in a metal brace set into the frame of the bed. Somehow, he didn’t remember this from when the artificial limb had first been attached – granted, he had barely been conscious then, and topped off with painkillers. A few gaps in his memory were hardly surprising.

"Do not be alarmed, Sir," the droid calmed instantly, "It is simply to ensure that the limb remains completely still during the procedure. Any movement could easily damage the intricate parts."

Luke nodded but still couldn't help feeling somewhat trapped as the device clamped shut just above his wrist, practically sealing him to the bed. At the same time, he felt a curious notion sliver through the Force - no, not just the Force, but the filial bond he shared with his father. A notion of something akin to nostalgia, bittersweet remembrance.

He glanced up toward his parent's face, past the immobile mask sealing the man from the world, searching for acknowledgment, explanation, but received neither. Mental shields were strengthened momentarily, and Luke barely managed to brush across an old pain, still intense and flaring. Yet the glance was too fleeting, his father now withdrawn completely.

In silence, the pair observed the treatment – from the slight numbing of nerves to reduce pain levels, to the reconnection of intricate neural links and eventually, the application of the patch of new synthskin.

 _An odd feeling, really_ , Luke had to admit to himself with the hint of a crooked smile, as he watched the artificial skin around the wound being cut and gently removed, before finally being replaced, the new membrane sealed in place with a strong organic adhesive.

 _Soldering, cutting, gluing. Maintenance._ He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

After putting in place a light bandage, 2-1B release the brace around his wrist and Luke almost reflexively replaced the black glove, struggling against the numbness and added padding.

“The limb should soon regain full functionality,” the droid commented, while Luke carefully began flexing his hand, “It will take a few days for the repaired neural connections to adapt, so motion may be slightly delayed, but it should be no more than a minor inconvenience.”

Luke nodded.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Very well. Should you observe any pain, twitches or otherwise abnormal behavior from the limb, please see me immediately.”

“Sure, I will. Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Sir.” 2-1B gave the slightest of nods and, after retrieving a datapad and some surgical equipment, left the room, likely to busy himself with his next patient.

Again, the silence returned; still his father did not move or acknowledge his presence in any other way. Luke was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I wish he’d stop calling me ‘Sir’,” Luke said finally, trying to dispel the odd tension, “That just doesn’t fit at all. I’m just Luke.”

When there was still no reaction, he added:

“I told him to just call me that, but he won’t. He just doesn’t seem to get his circuits wrapped around it. It’s always ‘Sir this, Sir that’. It would be funny if it weren’t that ridiculous.”

When nothing else had gained his father’s attention, his complaint certainly did, and the man crossed his arms in front of his massive chest.

“I am not quite sure why an appropriate title should strike you as ridiculous. I would rather suggest you learn to come to terms with it.”

Luke’s gaze once more travelled upward and studied his father’s ebony mask. The tension was clearly still there, even more intense than before, if anything.

“What’s wrong, father? Something happened, didn’t it?”

Several breathing cycles passed before Vader attempted to answer his son – he wasn’t sure how to break the news to him, Luke realized.

_Definitely not a good sign._

“One of the Empire’s largest news networks has somehow managed to procure a video feed of the… _incident…_ in the Works. Both video and _audio_ are surprisingly clear.” he began almost _hesitantly_ , and Luke’s chest instantly tightened at the words and their implications.

“They know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question. Knowledge.

“Yes,” his father confirmed simply. “Our relationship has been exposed. Considering the efficiency of holovid and the holonet, the news should spread rapidly.”

Luke gave a sigh and ran his left hand across his face.

This was soon, he had to admit. A lot sooner than he had hoped, but hardly unexpected.

“You do not seem particularly upset,” his father observed, surprise radiating through their bond.

“It was gonna happen sooner or later”, he simply shrugged, “Sure, I didn’t think it’d be _this_ soon, but there is no way we could have kept it secret forever, anyway.”

The surprise surrounding his father suddenly began to darken, to waver, until it resembled outrage, incomprehension and a myriad of other emotions Luke could not hope to decipher, let alone understand.

“You do not comprehend the situation–“

“Of course I do!” Luke interrupted, irritated at being misjudged, underestimated once again.

 _Of course he understood_.

It meant he was no longer _Luke Skywalker, former farmboy turned Rebel pilot_ , but _Luke Skywalker, son of Darth Vader_.

No longer _Luke Skywalker, Red Five, hero of the Battle of Yavin_ , but _Luke Skywalker, deserter. Traitor._

No longer _friend_ and _comrade_ , but the _enemy_.

_Of course he understood._

He had spent countless nights awake, unable to shake the images from his mind - images of his friends casting him out, renouncing him, shunning him.

Images of his aunt and uncle turning from him in their disappointment, their failure to uphold their vow and protect him from his past.

Now, the images returned and spurned his irritation into anger, encouraged him to free the wild beast and allow it to seize control, to claim its strength and make the images stop. Make them go away.

_Make them all go away._

Luke pressed his eyes shut.

_No._

He would not give in.

This was his choice. This was the way he _needed_ to take.

For his father as much as for himself.

“I _do_ understand,” he whispered finally, remotely wondering whether his father was aware of his inner struggle, “but it was bound to happen. There’s nothing I could do about it.”

“Perhaps not,” his father eventually admitted, “But we will not be caught unprepared. We will continue your training as soon as I have seen to the most pressing matters. It is time you properly learned how to handle a lightsaber.”

 

“This is just no good.” Han sighed from where he sat hunched over a computer console – and had been sitting for the past several hours. His back was beginning to hurt, and so were his eyes. And he was even going to get started on his levels of patience.

“You weren’t expecting it to be that easy, were you?” the princess retorted from two rows behind him.

 _No, not thinking, not expecting, certainly, but_ hoping.

But there was simply _nothing_. It was as if no one by the name of Anakin Skywalker had ever even existed. To make matters worse, and infinitely stranger, whatever entries there had ever been regarding Luke had also been wiped. Likely by the Imps, probably even Vader’s men themselves.

If one were to believe in the holonet – and sadly enough, Han thought, all too many people actually did nowadays – there was no human called Luke Skywalker. His aunt and uncle had lived in solitary, he had never attended a school or obtained a speeder license. Or even been born.

If there was one thing those Imperials could be called, it was ‘thorough’.

“Any luck on your side of the galaxy?” he tried, already knowing the answer.

“No, nothing,” she replied, her voice laced heavily with concentration – and tension. “Nothing in any of the registries or databanks, not even in any of what little is left of the private ones.”

Han scowled.

_Yeah, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy._

“It’s just like the kid to cause us all this trouble,” he began, the mock annoyance a tad too real, “Next time I see him–”

“Han!” She suddenly interrupted him, her voice alert, almost… _scared?_ “Come, look at this!”

Confused, yet infinitely more curious as to what she might want to show him, he scrambled around the inactive consoles and came to a halt behind her, his eyes already glued to the screen.

“You _gotta_ be kidding me!”

The princess had called up INN1, one of the Empire’s largest news networks, and was now staring at the holonet channel. It was a _travesty_.

Were they _mocking_ them?

Almost every available inch of space was plastered with the images of just the people they were looking for: Darth Vader, supposed alter ego of Anakin Skywalker, and, of course, Luke. The two of them were looking back at Han and Leia from every possibly angle, and sensational captions and headlines faded in and out of the changing pictures.

_‘Coming to the rescue: Lord Vader saves his son’_

_‘Heir to the Empire? Will the boy take over?’_

It took both of them a moment to recover from the initial shock. Eventually, Leia sifted through dozens of editorials (‘ _The Empire’s New Elite’),_ polls _(‘Fit to rule or damned to fail?’),_ articles _(‘Lord Vader’s mysterious son: parentage, past and future’)_ and anonymous reader comments _(‘Where’d Vader hide this boy all this time, and who’s his mother?’)_ until she finally found the original feature and played back the report.

Han instantly recognized the scene as their disastrous rescue mission. Thankfully, the cameras had not managed to catch any clear images of his face; merely his shoulders and neck had managed to attain galactic popularity.

“This could not possibly have been worse.” Leia whispered, barely louder than the audio she was speaking above. “The quality is so clear… High Commandis almost _obligated_ to go through with it now.”

 _It_ was, of course, declaring Luke a traitor to the Rebel Alliance, Han knew. The princess had been speaking to High Command leaders repeatedly, had appealed for Luke both officially and unofficially, but had so far made little progress. Military protocol was not easily bent, much less easily broken. Her last hope had been to hold off the official hearing as long as possible to give them the chance to procure some sort of information to clear Luke’s name, some sort of motivation for what he was doing. But this was it. The activation command for his carbon freeze.

Han gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Her lack of reaction told him that she was not taking this well.

“– name seems to be ‘Luke’, and he appears to be in his mid to late teens. So far, no official statement has been made, and Lord Vader and his son are currently off-world to attend to military matters and are not available for comments. Yet a public announcement is expected for the Empire Day festivities. Some sources speculate that Lord Vader’s son will then be initiated as heir to the Empire–”

Leia closed the file and let out a troubled sigh.

“How did he get involved in military business? Why?” She brought a hand to her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose as if to drive away an onsetting headache. “I just hope he’s safe out there…” she added finally, her voice small.

“Hey, hey, Princess, now’s not the time to give up!” he squeezed her shoulder and felt her tense.

“Yes… Yes, you’re right,” she replied finally, regaining her composure. Straightening her shoulders, she gave him a quick glance before getting up and hurrying toward the door. “Maybe we have been looking in the wrong places.”

Not quite understanding what she meant exactly, but hoping – sincerely hoping – she was onto something, he rushed after her–

Only to almost run over a seemingly depressed 3PO at the entrance.

“I am truly sorry, Captain Solo, but I simply could not find anything. If only R2 were–“

Raising his hands in a calming gesture, Han walked past the droid.

“Yeah yeah, save it for another time, golden boy.”

He was not in the mood for this now.

 

“So, you’re really sure you want to do this? You know what happened before, right?” Luke stood in the middle of the cavernous training hall, looking questioningly at his father barely 6 feet from him.

“I would prefer not to be reminded of that particular _endeavor_ ,” Vader commented seriously despite the slight grin forming on his son’s face. “And, yes, I believe this training is necessary. It could prove vital. The ability to handle a lightsaber can easily make the difference between life and death.”

Luke nodded, and the shadow of a memory hushed across his features, one older than those he had made in the presence of his father, the latter knew. Yet he decided to mute his curiosity for the moment. The boy would come forth with information when he wished; he was certainly more than talkative enough.

Darth Vader’s glove hand went to the left of his belt and unclipped a lightsaber. His own in a different life, the blade pulsating blue, he knew instinctively. Wordlessly, he held the weapon out to the boy.

Surprisingly, his son hesitated, starting at the hilt, a haunted look darkening his features.

“Would you rather use a non-lethal training saber?”

The boy’s blue eyes found his – despite the mask – and his voice was wary, yet innocent.

“Did you–?”

No. He never had. Although he had been advised to do so, he had shunned the training weapon and embraced the lethal blade with a fervor and ambition the likes he only displayed for piloting spaceships. Quickly, he had surpassed the others, left them behind while they played, were cautious and careful to observe the routines. He had followed instinct, intuition. Then as now. Perhaps the only – one of the only, he corrected, regarding the boy – useful remainders of that cursed existence.

“No.” He eventually voiced.

After hesitating mere seconds, the boy’s small hand met his and accepted the lightsaber. Vader found it looked natural in his hand, as if fashioned for it – although it had never been.

His son’s eyes became fixed on the metallic shaft in his still gloved right hand, and he seemed to study the weapon intently. Eventually, he let out a short chuckle which caught Vader by surprise.

“When Ben gave this to me,” he explained, “he told me you’d wanted me to have it. When I was old enough. I guess that doesn’t seem very likely now, does it?”

Vader regarded the boy quietly, mulling over his words. It seemed just like the sort of thing the old fool would fabricate, likely in a plot to recruit the boy for his cause. Surely it had been easier handing over the keepsake of his dead father than trying to explain to the boy that it was the weapon with which he had slain his former student, condemned him to the mere shadow of an existence after betraying him in cold blood and– and turning _her_ against him, too. Vader calmed his ragged breathing and dispelled the onset of an old rage resurfacing. His anger would be useful, but not now.

Not when he was with the boy.

“It is quite far from the truth, just as you suspect,” he heard himself answer, his son’s curiosity piqued instantly, “but that story is not for now. It will suffice to know that it is indeed a weapon I once constructed and used, and that I wish for you to have it now.”

His son gave him a curious glance, one he could not quite place.

“Thanks.”

“No need,” he waved dismissively, “In time, you will construct your own weapon. Until then, it will serve you well. Now, demonstrate your grip.”

Luke nodded and did as he was told: his left hand gripped the hilt just below his right, and his gloved thumb pressed the activation switch, the blue blade snapping to life with a sharp but sonorous hiss.

Vader stepped closer to the boy, inspected his hold on the weapon and finally nodded, pleased.

“Good. Your grip is strong, even. Remember to always lead your weapon with both hands, no matter how light it appears.”

“Why is that?” the boy asked with true curiosity, “Wouldn’t it be useful to have a free hand?”

“Useful, yes,” Vader answered curtly, images dancing before his inner eye, images of a past life, of a blade pressed from a hand, the previous advantage lost, the battle decided instantly. “But disadvantageous. While one hand gives you flexibility, two hands give you strength and control.”

He wasn’t sure if his son was all that convinced, yet at least the boy nodded and seemed to accept the explanation. For the time being.

“Perhaps you can show me the stances you have learned so far.”

“Sure.”

Without hesitation, the boy brought the saber high above his right shoulder, quickly leaned his back and bent his elbows to his left to balance the downward swing of the blade, then, in one fluid motion, thrust it forward at shoulder height and brought it swishing to the level of his knees, to which he dropped only to pull his weapon up straight over his head. He rested in the stance of a moment and turned toward his father eventually.

“So, how bad was I?”

Vader stood silent for a moment. It was glaringly obvious that his son had hardly been trained in the use of a lightsaber, and his movements were full of edges and unused potential. Yet there was an incredible ease to his motions; his body seemed to possess an instinctive knowledge of how to execute the techniques – he was fighting with the Force, no, _in_ the Force, likely without even being aware of it. If his potential could be developed… If he were diligent enough…

He dared not finish the thought and buried it deep in his mind.

“You must have done acceptably, considering your appendices are still in place.”

The boy rolled his eyes at him, but could not hide a smirk.

“Yeah, ha ha, very funny.”

“You did well, although there is still much room for improvement,” Vader complimented earnestly. “You will likely not find much use for Form I velocities in real combat, of course.”

Luke extinguished his blade with another hiss and stepped back up to his father.

“Form I velocities?”

Vader once more crossed his arms in front his his chest, looking down at the small figure before him.

“Has Kenobi taught you this little?” he gave what the vocabulator failed to interpret as a sigh and supplied a brief explanation. “Lightsaber combat is categorized into 7 different, distinct  forms. Each one has a certain set of techniques focusing on certain aspects of combat. Form I, for example, Shii-Cho or ‘The Way of the Sarlacc’, was the first of the sevens forms to be developed. It serves mainly to disarm the enemy and is nearly useless in lightsaber-to-lightsaber combat. Nevertheless, it incorporates many basic principles and as such is the form to be learned and mastered before study of the more complex forms can begin.”

The boy blinked, raising his eyebrows almost incredulously.

“I never knew it was such a science…” he commented in earnest surprise. “What form do you use?”

“I prefer Form V, Djem So. It is powerful, strong, versatile,” he gestured to the weapon in his son’s hand. “The lightsaber you are holding was constructed with that very form in mind.” At seeing the boy’s questioning glance, he simply added, “But such details can wait. I will depart for Zolan soon and there is still much to be taken care of.”

On those words, the boy froze and fixed him strongly.

“What do you mean, _you_?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “You’re gonna leave me here, aren’t you?”

Vader stopped in astonishment. Had his son seriously expected he would take him down to the planet? Onto the _battlefield?_ Who, in their right mind, would even willingly put himself into such a dangerous situation?

Behind the mask, Vader scowled to himself.

Of course _his son_ would. Whatever signified death and horror to an ordinary man sounded of nothing but adventure and excitement to a Skywalker.

“Of course you will remain onboard,” he stated simply. “The planet is in a state of civil war.”

“But _you’re_ going!”

_Cursed Skywalker genes indeed._

“I am going on a military mission. And I am not willing to divert vital attention to the task of keeping my rampant offspring from endangering himself.”

At this point, Luke’s annoyance turned into indignation and he threw his father an accusing look, the weapon clenched so tightly in his fist that the bones protruded from the skin in a glaring white.

“That’s not fair,” he retorted angrily, “You know I can look out for myself. Besides, there will be more than enough soldiers and security. So what’re you afraid of?”

_What I am afraid of?_

_Afraid?_

He pressed his eyes shut tightly behind the mask, painfully straining the scarred tissue of his face but not caring. It was a question he was not willing, not ready to answer, even to himself. Especially to himself, lest his fears somehow became reality. Lest someone perceived them and _made_ them reality.

There was too much to be lost now. Too much to be afraid of.

“The matter is not open for discussion,” he diverted finally, “You will remain on the flagship.”

The boy fumed, he knew, enraged at having been brushed off, denied an explanation at least.

“So you get to lock me in here and I don’t even get a say in it? That is notfair! What if you get into danger down there, and I don’t even know it? What if something happens to you?”

 _As long as you remain safe, I will return alive. I must._ The words rang easily in his mind, yet refused to flow from his lips.

“You will find that little in life is _fair_ , my son.”

 

_The ground around him shook with the deep, rhythmic thrumming of explosions. Dirt splashed up all about him, muddying his boots and pants but he kept walking. Neither the localized quakes nor the fountains of sand and mud disturbed his sure step. The terrain was familiar, despite the freshly blasted craters and the hundreds over hundreds of bodies and body parts which littered their floors. The tip of his boot kicked at a severed thumb and forefinger, but he gave it nothing but a glance._

_The explosions continued, tearing up the ground near him, yet never too close. He knew where to stop. He would not be hit. The chaos was nothing but a backdrop, a cacophony of sounds, smells and vistas horrifying to some, meaningless to him._

_People fell before his feet, enemies and allies alike, collapsed as if in a strange lane of welcome to his left and right. They also knew where he was going, why he was going there, but they were not as lucky as him._

_Before long, he had reached his destination. The towering, sable form was unmistakable. It turned toward him, in surprise, not horror. Questioning. A mechanical sentence began to form but became one with the explosions._

_He stepped forward, but the figure did not relent, did not withdraw._

_In the end, it fell just like the others before it. Easily, without protest. He regarded it for a moment in the soft blue sheen, his boot kicking listlessly at a shoulder plate._

_It was anticlimactic, almost disappointing, but his work was done._

_He turned to walk on, walk toward the explosions, become one with the mayhem once more._

Luke started awake, drenched in cold sweat, and sat disoriented for a moment. His sheets and pillow felt clammy, his hair plastered to his forehead – his heart was hammering as if in a vain attempt to free itself from his chest.

What in the worlds had that been?

Of course Luke was no stranger to nightmares – it was a plague he had lived with for much of his conscious life. But this one had seemed different; so detached, and yet, at the same time, so close, so immediate. The burned and bombed landscape was scorched into his inner eye, the images returning all too willingly. The bodies falling before him. _Slashed? Killed by a blade?_ And then that black figure. _His father_. He was certain of it.

His father, murdered, without any resistance, any struggle.

Focussing his mind on the Force, Luke searched a light meditation, allowed the pure light to ease his ragged breathing and pounding heart.

Had it been him? Had _he_ killed all those people?

There was a vague memory of a bluish pulsating to his right, but in the dream he hadn’t looked closer.

_His father’s saber?_

But it made no sense. He would never kill his father.

Unless…

_The Zolan… The Clawdites! Of course!_

 

Vader fastened the straps of his passenger chair and looked through the viewport into the main landing bay. Although there was a general, perfectly coordinated business about the hangar, something was amiss.

The boy hadn’t come.

Then again, considering the past two days, this behavior was hardly surprising. Ever since their argument during the lightsaber training session, his son had been withdrawn, going out of his way to avoid him.

It was likely the boy was still mad at him; although Vader hadn’t taken him for someone who held a grudge, he seemed to be quite persistent whenever he felt he was in the right.

Opening himself to the Force, Darth Vader stretched out for that one signature elevated above the rest, the one which usually shone so brightly. Now, however, it was muted, indistinct, and he would have been hard pressed to localize it.

 _The boy is shielding his mind!_ Vader realized with quiet astonishment. Yes, it was clear he was still mad at him.

However, Vader pushed the beginnings of a nagging guilt aside. It was more important for the boy to be safe than content at the moment. All other matters could be resolved once he returned from the mission.

With a low rumbling of its thrusters and sublight engines, the shuttle came alive and gently exited the hangar bay.

They were in close orbit above Zolan; their travel would be short.

Gazing out of the viewport to his right, Vader spied the planet’s surface, an odd mixture of muddy greens and grayish browns, a few larger bodies of water the only specks of clear color on the dirtied canvas.

The dust of civil war, Vader’s expert eyes recognized despite the red tint of his lenses. The grime of battle.

Within hours, he, too, would be out on the battlefield, and if it was the will of the Force, he would even enter battle himself again, finally. He could feel his body tense with the sweet promise, craving the exertion, the thrill.

Soon, the planet grew closer, and atmospheric turbulence sent familiar shivers through the vessel.

Then, it all happened quickly. The internal comm crackled to life and the pilot spoke up nervously.

“Sir, sensors are reading an energy fluctuation, but I’m not sure…” Hurried voices interrupted, unintelligible, until suddenly, a strange sound permeated the shuttle and all systems flashed angrily until, eventually, everything went dark and quiet.

“We’ve been bluelined! She’s going down!”

Next, all was lost in chaos. 


	17. Tumble

Without warning, the shuttle erupted in a cascade of electric blues and whites, energy coalescing up and down the durasteel hull and sparking off into the emptiness around the vessel. The current went rampant for seemingly endless moments, until, just as abruptly as it had set in, it evaporated, leaving the shuttle dark, lifeless.

The bridge crew of the _Executor_ watched in horrified silence as gravity reclaimed what was its and began tugging at the shuttle, slowly but surely drawing it ever closer to the planet’s atmosphere. All of the usual chatter had come to a momentary halt as disbelief forced everyone’s eyes to the transparisteel windows and the events unfolding beyond.

It was Admiral Piett who first came to his senses and, breaking the ghostly quiet, began barking urgent orders. As if startled, the bridge sprang back to life, the usual bustle enriched with an undeniable air of panic.

“Engage the tractor beam!” Piett instructed the nervous crewmen in the pits below the command walkway, “Secure the shuttle and bring her back in!”

A moment passed, filled with frenzied beeping from the consoles, until a young lieutenant answered: “Sir, the tractor beam isn’t reacting.”

“What do you mean, ‘not reacting’?”

“I’m not sure, Sir. But it seems to be disrupted. Possibly by the source from which the ion blast originated.”

“Get the engineers working on it immediately.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Piett cursed his bad luck. What in the stars was going on? According to intelligence reports, none the factions of the planet Zolan - neither Zolanders nor the Clawdites - were in possession of large-scale ion cannons, much less equipment powerful enough to generate field disruptions of this magnitude. Clearly, however, someone had somehow managed to get their hands on them, and right now, deliberation and conjecture would serve no other purpose than to make him the next ‘dead man walking’.

“Open a channel, emergency frequencies.”

“Channel open.”

“Shuttle _Legate_ , this is the _Executor._ Please respond.” Piett tried, calming himself to speak in as much of a steady voice as was possible in such a moment.

When no reply came but the crackling of static, he made a second attempt. Yet that, too, was not met with a response.

“The shuttle doesn’t seem to be receiving, Sir. The emergency systems must have failed,” the pasty communications officer concluded.

 _Blast!_ Whoever was at work down on the surface, they had certainly done their homework. With communication out and the shuttle’s emergency systems down, there was precious little the flagship could do for its commander. The rest of the fleet was due to arrive within the next few hours only, and whatever forces were already in the system or down on the surface had no means of providing assistance to a crashing ship. In mere minutes, the _Legate_ would have traversed the atmosphere and crashed on the planet. Time was of the essence if they were to at least limit the amount of damage and have any hopes of saving Lord Vader and the shuttle crew.

“Alert the pilots and landing parties. Assemble the medical staff and rescue personnel. Calculate the _Legate’s_ trajectory and dispatch our troops immediately!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And bring me Lord Vader’s son.”

“…Sir?”

“Do it.”

 

 

“We’ve been bluelined! She’s going down!” the pilot exclaimed, hastily withdrawing his gloved hands from the sparking console before him. For a brief moment, the electricity flared angrily, drowning the entire cockpit in cerulean hues reminiscent of sunken ruins rather than war machinery. Soon, however, the enchantment wore off, and the sudden absence of any interior lighting brought gloom and dread.

Without hesitation, the pilot began hammering at buttons, punching in sequence after sequence of code but was met with no reaction. The console remained dead.

“The emergency systems aren’t engaging. What in the seven hells is going on here?” he muttered as much to himself as the rest of the occupants of the cockpit.

Next to him, the co-pilot jumped from his seat and rushed toward the back where he stood, rigid, before a diagnostic panel.

“The systems are shot - life support is failing.”

As if on cue, a shudder went through the small vessel and already - even if still slowly - the shuttle began its forced descent toward Zolan.

Despite the urgency of the situation, anger was the first emotion to overcome the Dark Lord of the Sith. None of the intelligence reports had referenced to the inhabitants of Zolan being in possession of military technology of this level of sophistication. Clearly, the reports were proving to be unreliable.

Such blunders would have consequences as soon as he returned to the capital.

Now, however, had to see to it that he would even _have_ the chance of returning.

Flexing his gloved fingers, he willed his anger to the back of his mind, calmed his breathing and walked over the port of the shuttle. Kneeling down, he opened the panel to the backup engine controls and peered inside. Instantly, a growl erupted from his charred throat: the controls were fried. Certainly not beyond repair, but beyond whatever patching up would be possible in the short time they had left.

“There is nothing to be done with these now”, he stated plainly.

“Same for the backup generators,” he heard the navigator say from behind him. “And communications.”

A strained silence set in as the four men deliberated their possible courses of action, the reality of an imminent crash landing taking shape in their mind.

There was no hope of landing the shuttle safely, Vader knew, and although he expected Piett and the crew aboard his flagship to have already initiated a rescue mission, he was hardly willing to sit idly by and wait for their assistance. Nor was he in any position to, it seemed: had the _Executor’s_ tractor beam been working, it would have caught them already. This evidence spoke of much greater trouble; their fate was up to them now.

Unbidden, thoughts of his son infiltrated his mind, drowning the Dark Lord in the duality of his emotions: the commander in him rejoiced in not having given in to the boy’s pleas, not having caved and taken him along on so dangerous a mission, in having correctly judged the risk of the situation and proven himself.

Yet the father was filled with… _trepidation?_

The father needed to return to the son, could not leave his vulnerable offspring alone in a galaxy bent on his corruption, his destruction.

The father needed to protect.

The father…

_No. Now is not the time._

Cleansing his mind, Darth Vader freed himself from burdening thoughts and allowed his mind only to focus on the task ahead. One step at a time.

Applying his new-found clarity, a plan was soon formulated, effortlessly, as so many times before.

“Can you open the door to the crew section?” he curtly addressed the navigator kneeling before another service terminal.

“Negative. The controls are out. I could override to manual release but it would take some time.”

Time they did not have, Vader knew. He briefly considered applying his lightsaber, but even with the energy blade it would take him at least a minute or two to cut through the heavy material. Minutes which would speed their fall and possibly negate all his efforts.

His three crewmen remaining in the back section of the shuttle would have to be left behind. A regrettable but necessary sacrifice.

Without further deliberation, Darth Vader stepped up to the right of the cockpit door, opening a chest-level hatch and addressed his navigator.

“Operate the starboard connecting brackets, commander. I will take the port side.”

“Yes, Sir.”

If the trooper was nervous, he indeed hid it well.

“Sergeant, keep an eye on life support. Alert me when something changes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Without any explanation, Vader knew the officers instantly understood what he had in mind: in an effort to reduce their weight and thus slow their fall, he intended to separate the cockpit from the crew section. That alone, of course, would hardly bring them down safely. Yet with the addition of a Force field, it might prove to be just the edge they needed to escape with their lives.

As their shuttle accelerated under the pull of gravity, the men worked in a tensed silence. While the starboard brackets released rather easily, Vader’s cybernetic limbs groaned under the strain of detaching the port ones. Theyt moved only slowly, hesitantly, and it was not for a full two minutes that a sickening screech sounded from beyond the cockpit door and an enormous tremor heralded news of a successful separation.

Although Vader felt the urge to exhale with relief, he knew that his work was far from done.

It was still a long way down to the surface.

Closing his eyes, Darth Vader withdrew into himself and focussed on that dark current of power surging just below the surface, the black beast born from his anger and hatred, always hungering, insatiable. Bit by bit, he fed it with lumps of deep-set frustration, chunks of decade-old anger. Quickly, he felt it tense against its reins, struggling to be set free–

–And he opened himself to the Force.

Within the blink of an eye, the fabric around him flared up with a blinding light, panic and confusion rolling over him with such intensity that he feared for a moment he might drown.

And with these emotions came a realization that suddenly made everything else seem insignificant.

 _‘Father? What_ was _that?’_

 

 

Balling his hands into fists, Piett watched in frustration as the _Legate’s_ cockpit separated from the crew section. A sensible action, he understood, given the situation. An emergency mechanism which had already saved quite a few lives and, he hoped, would now assist in saving the lives of Lord Vader and his shuttle crew.

A duty that was normally his.

A duty he was unable to fulfill.

Condemned to inaction, he was beginning to make peace with his fate: there was no chance he would escape this incident with his life. If Vader was to survive the crash, he would certainly see to the Admiral’s disposal himself. If he were to die, the Emperor would likely hold him responsible and award him an end which would make Vader’s signature chocking seem merciful.

He truly _was_ a dead man walking, he was sure of it.

Nevertheless, he would do whatever possible to assist his commander.

He would not abandon his duty for fear of punishment.

A young lieutenant walked up to the Admiral and, saluting briskly, pulled him from his morbid thoughts.

“Sir, the boy was not in his quarters.”

“Well, where is he then?”

“We don’t know, Sir. We haven’t been able to locate him on the _Executor_. He may have left the ship.”

Piett froze, icy fingers of panic sending a shiver down his spine.

“He must have snuck onto the shuttle,” he murmured to himself.

The lieutenant briefly gestured down toward a small blue astromech unit beside him, eyeing the machine with something akin to annoyance.

“We found this R2 unit in the boy’s quarters. He seems… _excited_ and wouldn’t stop following me.”

Piett regarded the droid quietly. He had seen him before, he was sure of it.

“Yes, this astromech belongs to Lord Vader’s son–“

The small unit let out a beep of indignation and shuffled back and forth, as if agitated. It seemed in desperate need of saying something, and frustrated at not being understood.

Perhaps this little one could still be of use.

“Get him to a translation module immediately. He may yet have useful information for us.”

 

 

He felt numb.

Whatever emotions had, until a moment ago, spurned the Dark Side, awarded him power and control, were now deadened by the desensitization of shock, of disbelief.

_‘…Son?’_

_‘What’s going on here, Father?’_

The panicked voice rang clearly in his mind, the familiar unbridled signature so dreadfully flustered.

So _close_.

Almost like an animal driven into a corner, Vader felt his instincts take over and, once more, barely contained anger flared up in his chest, forcing his iron lung to work even harder.

‘ _What in the seven hells do you think you are doing?_ ’ he snarled, ‘ _Do you have_ any _idea of the danger you have put yourself in_?’

He felt Luke recoil slightly at the harsh tone, the dark presence suddenly surrounding his father, yet the immediate hint of regret was not able to overpower his anger.

_‘I didn’t want you to go alone, I– Look, I know it seems stupid, but– Uh, can’t we talk about this later?’_

Vader expelled a growl of frustration into their bond, letting his son know of his… _displeasure_ with the situation, yet decided that the boy was right. Now was hardly a time for arguments.

‘ _We most certainly_ will’, Vader replied, forcing his conscious mind to regain control over his feelings, even if only for a short while.

 _‘I suppose you realize that the shuttle was hit by an ion blast_ ’, he supplied after a moment, ‘ _All systems are down, the emergency systems failed to engage. I decided to separate the cockpit from the crew section to reduce our mass and slow the fall. The sound you heard was from the connecting brackets disengaging_.’

Where he had managed to suppress his anger, a newly flaring guilt refused to be quashed so easily, burdened his shoulders, his chest, the iron lung still straining to keep up with his panicked rhythm.

It was _he_ who had endangered the boy.

He should have been able to sense his son so close. His _own_ _son,_ mere _meters_ away.

Yet somehow, he had been blind. Weak.

Unable to protect. Yet again.

Luke’s mental voice instantly drew him out of his dark thoughts, and left him almost… surprised.

_‘Sounds like a plan.’_

There was not the slightest hint of accusation in the boy. Although his panic and excitement still rang almost deafeningly through their bond, there was also a strange sliver of trust, of support.

His son must not be understanding the true seriousness of the situation.

_‘But I’d say our back end is still accelerating. At this rate, the landing won’t be pretty.’_

Was his son truly _joking_ at a time like _this_?

_‘Listen, Son, we do not have much time. You will need to create a Force field around the shuttle to slow your fall.’_

Confusion, and even a hint of embarrassment accompanied the boy’s easy reply.

_‘Sure, I just don’t have any idea how that works.’_

_‘That is of no matter. I will guide you.’_

Feeling his son’s assent, Vader once more closed his eyes to his physical surroundings and opened his mind to the Force. Yet instead of calling upon the Dark Side as he had done before, as he had done almost exclusively for decades, using its quick, seductive power, he relied only on himself, his connection to the luminous fabric of the Force.

And the unbridled, untainted strength of the boy’s signature through their bond.

The response was immediate, overwhelming, blinding, and Vader had to stop himself from instinctively recoiling from it. The Force sang in welcome - an eerily nostalgic experience he would have shied from if not for Luke’s presence - readily embraced him, the recognition painful, jarring.

Still he held on.

Effortlessly, he communicated his will to the Force, felt it respond eagerly. The shuttle was suddenly _steeped_ in energy, every floor plate, durasteel panel, every screw, viewscreen and console bathed in its light until all appeared nearly weightless.

From the other side of the bond, he felt the boy join him, follow his example, albeit less expertly, tense.

_‘Man, this is difficult…’_

_‘Concentrate.’_

Reaching for the boy’s signature, he opened their link further, allowing more access than ever before, and felt their connection grow, strengthen.

He would see to it that the boy made it down the surface safely. Even if it was the last thing he did.

 

 

Luke was barely aware of the shuttle’s rapid descent as he tried to concentrate, furrowing his brows, his mind close to exhaustion. He was sure he would never have been able to even hold on this long if it weren’t for his father’s support.

Peripherally, he noted the stormtroopers’ agitation and excitement, but he knew that if he were to talk to them now, to calm them down, his connection to the Force would be impaired, probably severed. A blunder that may cost them their lives. Although he relished applying his skills, he also knew that they were still a far cry from the ones he would have to develop before long. A far cry from his father’s.

Despite it all, Luke savored the contact they shared now, one so much deeper than anything they had ever experienced. Much deeper than anything his father had ever _allowed_. There was no darkness about him now, Luke realized, none of the hatred he perceived through their bond so often, and only little anger - a mere shadow of the seething rage the Sith Lord had demonstrated before.

Yet there was something else, undeniable, potent. Something else that was novel.

Buried among the anger, the urgency, the brooding, there was… _guilt?_

Luke almost drew back in surprise as he understood its source. His father was blaming himself for having separated the shuttle sections… was blaming himself for putting him at risk!

It seemed almost ludicrous, at odds with anything he thought he knew about his father. Wasn’t it Darth Vader who considered offense to be the best defense? Whose fuse was more easily lit than a Jawa was spooked?

If there was anyone who was responsible for this whole fiasco, it was him. Of course he had his reasons - and he stood by them - but still…

Before he even knew what he was doing, he already heard himself stammering through the Force.

‘ _Look, Father, I know I probably didn’t think this through properly…again… but–‘_

The reply came swift, strained.

_‘Not now. There will be time to talk later.’_

 In the shuttle, the troopers’ chatter grew louder, more urgent, and Luke could feel the temperature rising, sweat forming on his brow. They were getting close.

For an instant, the filial bond flared with urgency, and Luke understood.

_About to hit._

He reached out to his father one last time, hoping the older man was still listening.

_‘Father, I’m sorry!’_

Then, all conscious thought was driven from his mind as their tumble came to a crashing halt, jerking him hard to the floor and back up against the ceiling, bouncing like a discarded doll, all noise drowned in a sickening splash. The last thing he felt was a flaring pain in his side as he crashed hard to the floor, before merciful blackness took over.

 

Before there was anything else, there was pain. A ground shattering headache that forced Vader to retch despite the tubing filling his throat. The sound was odd, hollow, loud against the nothing outside him. He tried to carefully lift his head and open his eyes, but once more the world shifted around him, danced drunkenly, sickly.

 _A concussion_ , he knew instantly and groaned. Not his first one, of course. Neither this current nor his previous existence could be called safe, injuries always a familiar, even if vexing, companion.

Once more he opened his eyes, steeling himself against the pain. Letting his vision steady itself for a moment, he merely lay where he was, gazing ahead. After a minute or two, he was able to make out his surroundings: the dented, warped floor of the cockpit, littered with instruments, tools and whatever had been stowed away in its compartments.

Next, he tried to sit up. Immediately, he realized that his left arm failed to comply with his orders and looked down at it. At first glance, the limb appeared to be unharmed, yet the diagnostic systems in his helmet alerted him to an injury just above his elbow where the neural plates connected to his grafted skin. He briefly looked about himself, noticing the console barely a foot from him.

Blunt force trauma, he supposed.

Almost automatically, he moved on, sitting up with the support of his right arm, all the while careful to avoid hectic movement. Grabbing on to the console, he pulled himself into a standing position, his head instantly alight again, spots dancing before his darkening vision. And again his diagnostics flashed in alert, and Vader looked curiously down: a deep cut tore into his thigh, easily slicing through the fabric of the suit and into the sensitive skin beneath. He regarded it almost detachedly. He had suffered worse before, and it seemed the suit had already sealed off around the cut, and repressurized.

For another moment, Vader simply stood, observing nothing in particular as his senses slowly took up work again, dispelling the numbness in his mind.

_Luke._

In an instant, the previous minutes came back to him, assaulted his mind and brought clarity. And panic.

_Luke!_

Hastily, he opened his mind, attempting to reach out to the Force, to search for his son, but was met with a surge of pain so staggering it caused him to withdraw instantly and sent him leaning heavily against the console.

 _No. He would not have this,_ he growled, to himself, to the Force? Again he opened his mind and, gritting his teeth against the pain and nausea, reached out. All was blinding for a moment, and Vader couldn’t tell if it was due to the concussion, an upheaval in the Force, or both. There was no sense to anything, no direction, just a screaming jumble of words, thoughts, whispers, images, as if one was tapping into the mind of a madman. Yet Vader held on, _refused_ to let go, snarled at the Force to obey him, until eventually, finally, he felt it. That small, bright signature almost an extension of his own now. He had no way of telling where the boy was, if he was awake, injured, but he knew one thing: his son was alive.

Relief washed over him, dispelled his anger and frustration, instantly severing his contact to the Dark Side and the control it had given him. But for once, he did not care and allowed it to placate him for the time being.

The most immediate worry quieted for the moment, he turned to inspect his surroundings. The cockpit had, as he had noticed before, received quite some damage in the fall, resulting in a warped floor and walls, but had at least stayed intact. His crew had been thrown around and to the floor just as Vader himself, and only one of them, the navigator, was beginning to stir. Slowly, Vader moved to examine the other two. The co-pilot was dead, he noticed instantly; his neck was bent at a curious, unnatural angle. He had likely hit the back of a seat in their crash. Regrettable, Vader thought, he had been a good officer. But at least his death had been swift, painless.

While the navigator moved to sit up slowly and removed his helmet, Vader stepped up to the pilot. He appeared unharmed, except for a few scrapes and possibly superficial cuts to his right leg and within moments, began to stir.

“Are you injured, Commander?” he addressed the navigator who was already getting onto his feet, albeit shakily.

“No, Sir, I seem to be fine.” The officer answered and hastily moved to the pilot’s side.

Helping the captain sit up, he began removing the damaged white plastoid armor of the leg, with quite some effort pushed up the black body glove below and carefully inspected the limb.

The pilot as well removed his helmet and grimaced at his leg.

“I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Can you stand?” his companion asked.

Nodding, the pilot leaned heavily on the navigator and righted himself. Carefully, he tested his leg and, pleased with the result, let go of the other officer to stand on his own.

Vader regarded his remaining crew with a critical eye.

“Do you consider yourselves fit for travel?”

“Yes, Sir”, came the unisonous reply.

“Very well. See to those injuries on your leg, captain. Command, gather all medical supplies, provisions and survival gear. My son was in the crew section of the shuttle. Finding him is our first priority.”

 

 

Luke had no idea how long he had been out, but the dull pain in his side instantly reminded him of what had happened within the past frenzied minutes. Sitting up slowly, carefully, he drew in a sharp, shallow breath and brought his hand up to his right side. They had broken again, he knew. Despite countless hours in the bacta tank and the prudent care of 2-1B, the bone structure of the ribs had still been weak, healing rather than healed, the recent trauma more than enough to negate all efforts of recuperation. At least, he found with a scowl, the liver was still intact - _if not, it would hurt a lot more than it did now, right_? - and no organs or skin had been pierced. Well, at least his lungs weren’t deflating, so he assumed he was pretty safe for the moment.

Quickly glancing over the rest of his body, he found - and felt - a few minor bruises and scrapes, but nothing that seemed in any way life threatening.

He had made it.

But what about his father?

Panic threatened to overcome him as he hastily reached out through the Force, fervently searching for his father’s signature. He spied it quickly: it was strong, alive, but in tumult, uproar. The energy ran without direction and control.

His father had been hurt.

There was no time to lose.

Exhaling carefully, he brought himself up onto his knees, the motion sending a strange shiver through the beaten vessel.

It was then that he remembered the splashing sound. _Earth didn’t splash like that, did it? He admittedly hadn’t experienced many crash landings yet._

It took his hazy mind a moment to compute, but then it finally hit him.

They had landed in a lake!

Well, at least he _hoped_ it was a lake. He sure wasn’t good enough of a swimmer to make it out of an ocean.

“Don’t move!” he heard from his left and quickly turned. The two stormtroopers he had surprised with his unexpected appearance before were sitting in front of a third one, holding him down.

Curiously, and hastened by the urgency in their voices, Luke scrambled over and hunched down next to the leftmost trooper.

“Hang on a second, Scorch, we need to bind that off first. Don’t want you bleeding all over the place,” the trooper next to Luke ushered, holding the other man’s leg firmly between his hands with a scowl.

Luke had seen his fair share of injuries and broken bones in his life, but this was the kind that still send pangs of nausea to his stomach: the trooper’s lower leg had been mangled - likely by the bloodied container the other two had already pushed aside - and dozens of pieces of splintered bone glistened ghostly in the glaring red of the open wound. Blood was pouring out tirelessly, and Luke immediately understood their urgency: if they weren’t able to stem the blood flow, their companion would bleed to death within minutes.

Hastily, they all looked around for something suited to the purpose, hoping to spy the medkit which had been thrown out and about during their crash like everything else. Almost instantly, a small glimmer of white casing caught Luke’s eyes and he scrambled to extract it from the rubble surrounding it. 

The medkit was dented, bent, but Luke pried it open and with quick fingers, extracted the grav press bandage cuff and gave it to the trooper he had been sitting next to.

“Thanks,” the officer nodded curtly and quickly set to work on applying the bandage to his comrade’s leg. He worked expertly, efficiently, had certainly been trained to deal with this kind of injury, and had applied the cuff within a moment. Immediately, the blood flow died down.

“Thanks, Chatter, I owe you one _.”_

The other one, Chatter, smirked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put it on your tab.”

Luke resisted the urge to clear his throat before speaking. Nevertheless, he sounded far less competent than he would have liked to.

“Uh… Shouldn’t we be getting out of here? There’s no telling when this junkpile is gonna sink!”

The troopers regarded him curiously, then Chatter nodded.

“You’re right. Take the medkit, see what else you can find. Bagger, you help me with Scorch.”

For the next few minutes, all was lost in a hectic bustle. Luke gathered as many useful items  - medication, provisions, tools - as he could get his hands on, while Chatter and Bagger carried their injured comrade over to the emergency hatch and pried it open. Thankfully, it provided only minimal resistance and within another minute, all four of them were outside, on top of the shuttle. They had indeed landed in a lake, Luke noticed with some relief, barely a hundred meters from the shore. Still, the shuttle trembled dangerously.

“We can use the port wing to get us across,” Bagger suggested, pointing at a broken off part of the signature wings of the lambda-class shuttles.

“Yeah, let’s,” Chatter agreed.

It was a tight fit, to be honest, but a fit nonetheless, and after a few moments of paddling through the icy water they hit the rocky shore.

Carefully, Bagger and Chatter propped their companion up against one of the many large rocks littering the coastal terrain.

“You okay, man?” Bagger asked, concerned.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. That cut in your shoulder doesn’t look pretty, though.”

Luke focused on the trooper and, for the first time, noticed a small metallic shard sticking out just above the shoulder.

“That’s nothing,” he shrugged, “I’ll live.”

Then, Chatter turned around and earnestly regarded Luke.

“How about you?” he asked, “Anything broken? Any pain?”

Almost taken aback, the brought his hand to his side again and shook his head.

“No, nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re Lord Vader’s son.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I am, but… just don’t start calling me ‘Sir’ or anything. I’m Luke.”

The trooper looked at him curiously for a moment, then gave a short nod.

“Well, _Luke_ , I’m CT-2554, or Chatter, that guy’s CT-5007, Bagger, and this unfortunate bugger is CT-8412, Scorch.”

For a moment, Luke thought about responding something along the lines of ‘Nice to meet you’, but decided it would make him seem less farmboyish if he simply nodded. So he did just that.

“You were not supposed to be on the shuttle,” Bagger said, sitting down and looked curiously at Luke, “There was nothing about it in any of the mission briefings.”

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I _wasn’t_ supposed to be on the shuttle, but… it’s kind of a long story.”

The trooper frowned, but before he could ask anything else, Chatter interrupted.

“I think that can wait for another time. What really baffles me is what just happened here. I mean, the shuttle is hit, likely by an ion blast of some kind, apparently the cockpit separates, we nosedive down to the planet, yet here we are, alive and relatively unharmed. That’s… well, unheard of!”

Luke grinned almost sheepishly and had to stop himself from scratching the back of his head.

“I guess that would have been Father and me,” he stated, almost embarrassed, and quickly added, “well, mostly my father.”

Noticing the doubtful looks of the three officers, Luke quickly deliberated how to best explain his story.

“My father and I created Force fields around the shuttle parts, to slow them down. They’re kind of… like anti-grav fields, just using the Force.”

He didn’t quite know if the three men understood what he was telling them, but they didn’t seem as surprised about his abilities as he had expected at all.

“Well, kind of figures,” Scorch said simply.

Luke suspected these men had seen his father in action before and were scarcely surprised anymore. And although, at that moment, his curiosity flared, nagged at him to ask these men for all they knew about his father, thirsted for nothing but the stories they would tell of fighting alongside his parent, it was not the right moment. It would have to wait.

“Well, speaking of my father…” Luke began.

“Yes, we should regroup with Lord Vader, find out what’s going on here,” Chatter picked up instantly, “Problem is, our commlinks aren’t working and we have no way of telling where the cockpit went down.”

“I know where he is,” Luke supplied without missing a breath. “I can sense him through the Force. He’s… injured, but alive. I can lead you to him. We _have_ to hurry.”

Chatter regarded him skeptically.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to take you along. There are localized conflicts all over the place. Lord Vader would have my head if I let you get injured… or worse. You should stay here with Scorch and Bagger, they’ll look out for you.”

Luke crossed his arms in front of his chest. _Wonderful,_ he thought, _just like his father. Maybe the old man was rubbing off._

“I _am_ going. You’ll never find him without me - and you definitely don’t have the time to get lost. Besides, I can look out for myself,” he said, nodding toward the lightsaber clipped to his belt. “If anything happens, _I’ll_ be the one to answer for it to my father.”

Chatter gave him a long look he would have been hard pressed to interpret.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t die on me, then, Luke.”

 

Impatiently, Admiral Piett watched as the lieutenant connected the small astromech to the translation console and, almost instantly, the incessant beeping and whistling was rendered in endlessly running lines of basic.

“Well, lieutenant?”

“Sir, it seems that the boy indeed intended to stow away on the shuttle.”

“And apparently managed to do so”, Piett amended. “Does he give any indication as to possible reasons?”

The R2 unit continued its string of high pitched squealing and whistling, seemingly as impatient as the Admiral himself.

The lieutenant studied the screen quickly, then frowned.

“It says something about… protection. The boy seems to have been under the impression that his accompanying Lord Vader would in some way save his life.”

“Nothing else?” Piett inquired restlessly, curtly, “Does he have any means of contacting the boy?”

A frustrated, low squeal erupted from the droid and Piett understood even before the officer interpreted for him.

“Negative, Sir.”

Piett was about to respond when a change in the atmosphere alerted him and he spun around, away from the translation console and droid, toward the large viewports.

An uneasy murmuring rose among the bridge crew as an ensign alerted them to  a speck of blue that had come to life on the planet beneath them. Soon, it began to pulsate, spread, until finally, the entire globe was engulfed in a cobalt coruscation.

“Planetary shields have gone up, Sir.”

The surprise was palpable - little of what had happened within the past half hour could be considered predictable, expectable.

Still, professionalism and a deep sense of duty kept the bridge crew from stalling. Serving on Lord Vader’s flagship was, after all, unusual in itself, the unexpected almost commonplace.

“What of our rescue parties, captain?”

The officer briefly consulted his console, then turned back toward his commanding officer.

“Our troops entered the atmosphere briefly before the shields went up, Sir. They should be able to proceed according to plan.”

“Any communication?”

“No, Sir. The shields are blocking all communication and sensor readings. We will not be able to get through to them while the shield is up.”

Piett resisted the urge to curse out loud.

This day was getting worse by the minute!

“Did they receive the shuttle’s coordinates?”

The captain nodded briefly.

“They were transmitted well before our ships entered the atmosphere. The coordinates should provide them with an adequate search vector.”

That they should, of course. Then again, he did not expect Lord Vader to sit idly by and wait to be rescued. Once his rescue teams reached the crash site, they would likely find it abandoned. If Vader was still able to move by himself. If he was even still alive.

Strangely enough, however, he hardly doubted the latter. He had seen his commander return unscathed from far more difficult, dire circumstances. Now would be no different.

What irritated him beyond belief, however, was his own inability to interfere and provide assistance. Had it made a difference, he would have boarded a TIE fighter and descended to the surface straight away.

His place, though, was here. On the flagship. On the bridge. Doing what little he could.

“Search for any structural abnormalities. Anything. There has to be a way of getting through this shield.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

A little over an hour into their walk, Luke and Chatter decided to take a quick break. The terrain beyond the lake was mountainous, characterized by steep slopes and wide fissures running across the rough surface. They were making far less progress than they had anticipated.

Luke had to admit to himself that the muscles in his legs were beginning to burn from the relentless ascent, and once or twice he found himself out of breath from the constant sting in his right side. Still, there was no way he was going to actually admit to any of that _out loud._

“Yeah, this is definitely the Syre Ridge,” Chatter said out of the blue as he sat down on top of a low, flattened pressure ridge, confirming his earlier speculation about their possible location.

Taking a swig of water from the bottle, Luke looked at his chance companion.

“There was something about this place in the tactical meeting, wasn’t there?” he tried to remember what exactly they had been talking about before he had become distracted, “I think it was about Clawdite forces moving through…”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Chatter confirmed, “We’d better stay on our toes.”

Both sat in silence for a moment, until the trooper spoke up again.

“You sure we’re still heading in the right direction?”

Luke nodded.

“Absolutely.” He didn’t even need to open himself to the Force - his father’s signature was now a constant presence, and their finding him merely a matter of following the unmistakable trail. “It should be another… maybe 4 kilometers, maybe more. It’s hard to tell.”

Chatter nodded.

“That seems about right, considering the approximate height at which the separation took place. It’ll take us another 6 hours at least with this kind of terrain, and I don’t think we should be walking around at night.”

Luke instantly wanted to disagree, to tell his companion to press on so they could get to his father sooner, but a glimpse at the darkening sky made him stay quiet. They had about an hour of daylight left and were far too unaccustomed to their surroundings to even honestly consider moving through the mountains at night. Ideas like that would probably have them end up as greasy heaps of pulp at the bottom of one crevice or the other.

Wiping the neck of the water bottle on his sleeve, he passed the container to Chatter. The latter reached for it but was unable to prevent a pained scowl from flittering across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, genuine concern radiating in his voice.

Chatter shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he supplied.

“It’s not _nothing_ ; let me have a look at that.”

With a sigh, Chatter extended his left arm toward Luke and the latter carefully began prying off the armor and peeling back the black glove.

“You call this _nothing_?” Luke shot him a look of disbelief before he returned his attention to the trooper’s limb.

The wrist had swollen tremendously, almost reaching twice its original circumference, and was beginning to come afire with various shades of blue, green and sickly yellow. Luke had to say he was surprised the glove and armor had still fit.

Carefully touching the injured joint itself, he felt irregularities even despite the swelling, likely splinters of bone having burrowed themselves in the muscle tissue.

“That’s definitely broken.”

Again, Chatter merely nodded.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Luke asked, accusingly, keeping the wrist in a loose grip.

“Like you told me about your broken ribs?”

“I had those before,” Luke insisted sternly, dismissing his own distress, “And there’s nothing I can do about that now unless we somehow _magically_ come across a fully working bacta tank in these mountains.”

Chatter regarded him curiously and smirked, the flicker of a thought visible in his eyes for a second.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just reminded me of someone.”

Luke raised his eyebrows questioningly but then decided it would be better to take care of the trooper’s wrist first.

“I don’t think I can set the bone, but we should stabilize the wrist so you don’t move it around too much.”

Before Chatter could agree, Luke was already skimming through the items they had taken from the medkit. They had left most of the painkillers with Scorch and Bagger, and whatever remained was hardly powerful enough to alleviate the pain of a splintered wrist.

Suddenly, he remembered something and dug into his pant pocket. The Comaren was still there, the sturdy, stubby cylinder undamaged, and he extracted it almost triumphantly. He quickly set about removing the cap and inserting the hypodermic needle crudely into the trooper’s wrist.

“Hey, wait…” Chatter commented, and, if not for the needle in his arm, might have pulled back. “Don’t you need this? For your ribs?”

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ve got more,” Luke lied and emptied the contents of the syringe into the trooper’s tissue. He knew the other man would never have accepted the painkiller if he had known that it was the last of Luke’s original stash of two. He had, after all, not expected to break his ribs again.

As he worked quietly, using the plastoid handplating and a durable bandage to stabilize Chatter’s wrist, the latter spoke up yet again.

“I’m still curious… How did you manage to sneak onto the shuttle?”

Luke glanced up briefly, then returned to his work and shrugged.

“I had a little help from R2 - my astromech - and then I used the Force to shield myself so nobody would find me. It wasn’t that hard.”

He heard a grunt of disbelief, and amusement.

“You certainly had us fooled. Me and the other guys were pretty spooked when you just… stood there.”

Having cut the fingers off the trooper’s black glove, Luke pushed the ebony tube back in place and observed his handiwork.

“Talking about the others…” he began and finally looked up at Chatter, deeming his work done, “…what’s with those names?”

The trooper regarded him curiously.

“Our nicknames? You really wanna know?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” Chatter began, “It’s kind of a habit, a sort of… rite of passage every stormtrooper has to go through while at the academy. It’s usually the older cadets who will give you your nickname, depending on what strengths or traits you have– what makes you famous. Or infamous.”

Luke nodded, grinning, motioning his companion to go on.

“Bagger, he’s our gunner. Ever since he first started at the academy, his shooting was second to none and he bagged trophies by the dozen. Scorch, well…” Chatter grinned to himself for a moment, “He’s an engineer. A good one, too. But he hasn’t always been. He was so nervous on first assistant’s job that he switched the fuellines in a speeder bike and the whole thing went up in flames. Left a ginormous scorch mark. I hear they’re still trying to get rid of it.”

Luke chuckled.

“As for me, well, I’m a communications officer. I need to listen to lots of people talk, and do a lot of talking myself. Hence, Chatter. Not the most original name, but lightyears better than ‘CT-2554’.”

“Well, I like it,” Luke said simply, honestly. It was stories like these which threatened to drown him in nostalgia, made him long for his comrades.

 _Biggs_ …

“You ever had a nickname?” Luke heard and was momentarily pulled from his thoughts.

With a grunt, he leaned back against rough stone and scowled.

“Sort of. Back home, before I came to live with my father, I was always the odd one out. There was this guy, Fixer, who was all high and mighty, like he was some Grand Moff or something. He’d always try to put me down - I was a much better pilot than him, and I really showed him that one time at the stone needle. But he wouldn’t let up. Always called me _Wormie_ , as if he was _so_ great.”

“Wormie?” Chatter frowned, “No, I don’t think that fits. We might have to come up with a new one.”

Luke gave a short laugh but shook his head.

“That’s alright, I’m fine with _Luke_.”

“You know,” the trooper began after a while, studying the boy quietly, “You’re not really what I had expected.”

Luke snorted and gave the trooper a sarcastic look.

“Well, thanks a lot.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” came the quick reply, followed by another, more deliberate assertion that caused a strange twinge in Luke’s chest. “I think you and your father are more alike than you realize.”

 

 

They had barely been traveling for two hours and already, night set in. Although anxious to advance, to reach a better vantage point and finally be reunited with his son, Darth Vader had agreed to the captain’s suggestion of setting up camp and resting during the dark hours, the latter insisting it was much too dangerous to move around the unfamiliar terrain in complete blackness. Thankfully, nights were short during Zolan’s summer months and they would be able to move forward again in a few hours.

Above and around them, dark clouds and cool breezes brought the sounds of civil war: the distant thundering of explosions caused mild tremors in the mountain ridges, rock coming loose and rushing down into the valleys. Although the air was filtered through his triangular mouth grille, Vader easily recognized the miasma of battle, a strange amalgam of the burning stench of chlorine exhausted by the firing of weaponry, and the carrion odor of bodies burnt, discarded and rotting.

And somewhere, in all of this chaos, there was his son.

Vader sensed him.

The boy was coming closer, this much he knew.

And that knowledge alone caused a nausea far stronger than any a concussion would ever be able to effect.

After all, it meant that the boy was moving; that he had, once more, decided against staying put in favor of endangering himself.

Again, the boy had put himself at risk as if it were all a game, the stakes nonexistent.

Vader’s rising anger, however, was soon quenched by the icy, sinking feeling of contrition. Once more, the dark whispers returned, found him debilitated, their rotten breath sickening against his face as they sneered.

_It isn’t the boy’s fault. It is you._

_It always was._

_You are the one who fought with him before coming here, angered him, left him mad, seething with rage instead of resolving matters._

_It was you who was so blind to the Force that you didn’t even notice your son in the same shuttle with you._

_You, who executed the separation and cut your son loose, leaving him exposed, vulnerable._

_It was always you._

Vader gritted his teeth below the ebony mask and fought to expel the voices from mind. He _knew_ he was in the right, had always acted with only his son’s safety in mind. He _knew_ he was hardly an ideal parent, even, or especially, to a boy as reckless and curious as his son, but he had never consciously put him in harm’s way.

He never would.

_You keep telling yourself that. One day, you may just believe it._

_Let’s hope it won’t be too late by then._

_Like the last time._

Vader growled, snarled at the whispers.

Then, suddenly, there was nothing but one voice, so different from the dark leering, light where they were shadow.

_‘Father? Can you hear me?’_

‘ _Son?’_ he sent through their bond, his heart racing, his skull electrified, pressurized as if ready to burst forth through the helmet. _‘Son, are you alright?’_

_‘Huh? Oh, yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. How’s your head?’_

Vader started. How…?

The boy must have sensed his confusion for he explained himself promptly, urgently.

_‘The Force is… chaos around you. It’s crazy!’_

_‘It is a mere concussion. A minor inconvenience’,_ he supplied, knowing his son would not take an ‘I’m fine’ for an answer. Quickly, feeling the intensity of his headache increase, his control slipping, he added: _‘Stay where you are, Son. I will get you.’_

His son’s reply was as instantaneous and vexing as it was predictable.

_‘Don’t be ridiculous. Chatter and me are on the way. It would be a waste of time to just sit and wait. We’ll meet in the middle.’_

_‘You are aware that I highly disapprove of your choice.’_

A chuckle rang through the Force. At least the boy seemed to be in high spirits.

_‘And still there’s nothing you can do.’_

Vader felt the connection grow weaker, collapse.

_‘I suppose I will see you tomorrow, then.’_

He perceived his son’s wish to uphold the connection, that there was more he wanted to say before severing contact. But the boy understood his plight, he knew.

_‘Yeah, tomorrow. Stay safe.’_

_Stay safe_.

The two simple worse rang inside Vader’s mind long after they had been uttered.

_Stay safe._

 

“It can’t be far now,” Luke shouted over the sound of approaching explosions. “Maybe an hour or so.”

Next to him, Chatter grimaced.

“All the better. Things are going to get ugly here pretty soon.”

Over the course of the night, it seemed, the intensity of the fighting had increased, the source of the conflict moving their way. Barely faint thunder in the distant last night, the rumble of explosions now shook the ground rapidly, the sound deafening to their ears. During the few times it all became quiet, Luke frequently found himself wondering if his hearing had been permanently damaged.

He staggered briefly as another tremor hit, and instantly felt Chatter’s tight grip close around his upper arm, righting him.

“Thanks.”

“You okay?” Chatter asked, concernedly, at the paleness of the boy’s face. “How’s the side?”

“I’ll live,” he joked against a sharp inhale.

In all honesty, he didn’t feel so good. Once he had sat down last night, without anything to distract him, and his conversation with his father cut short, the pain had caught up with him. Instead of sleeping, he had meditated, placating the broken bones. And although he had felt tired, in need of sleep when the sun had finally come up, the ache had been dulled. Now, however, the constant tremors were hardly doing him any good. Whatever his meditation had regenerated, the day’s efforts had easily reversed the effect.

“We don’t have any painkillers left. I’m afraid you’ll have to tough it out, Luke.”

Luke was about to reply when an unfamiliar voice caused the pair to spin around.

“I found ‘em!”

Half a dozen white figures peeled out of the chaotic background of grime and dirt and walked up to them.

 _Imperial Stormtroopers!_ A sight Luke thought he must truly be appreciating for the first time in his life.

“Glad to find you safe, Sir,” the leading trooper began briskly, “We’re with the rescue team. Lord Vader has instructed us to bring you to him immediately. Please follow me.”

Luke, however, stayed exactly where he was, Chatter in close proximity.

“You spoke to my father?”

“Yes, Sir. Barely half an hour ago. Their shuttle section crashed a couple of miles to the east.”

Quickly, Luke felt his appreciation and gratitude wane, a strange wariness stepping in their place.

Wouldn’t his father have told him that he was sending a rescue team his way? Of course he was injured, and it took him great effort to even communicate briefly, but still…

On top of that, he had a bad feeling about this situation. And if Luke knew one thing, it was to trust his feelings.

“How is he?” he asked, stalling, hoping Chatter would pick up his hesitation.

“He claims to be fine,” the trooper answered, and added urgently: “Please, Sir, we must hurry. This place is not safe.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke spied a tiny gesture, Chatter’s right hand slowly creeping toward the blaster. His companion apparently shared his distrust. He mirrored the action and soon felt the cool hilt of his lightsaber under his fingertips.

“Show me your face, trooper,” Chatter requested, his voice steady, commanding.

“Look, we don’t have time for this. Lord Vader will have my head if I don’t get you to him quick–“

“I said: show me your face,” he repeated, his voice allowing no disagreement, blaster now in his right hand. Carefully, he raised the weapon and a silence fell over the remaining five soldiers.

“Come on, this is ridiculous!” the leader tried once more.

Yet finally, Chatter raised the blaster and aimed it at the small group.

“No soldier of the 501st would ever deny that request.”

“Well, if that’s how you want it!”

The sentence was still ringing in the air as bedlam rose around them.

Luke hastily ignited his blade just in time to deflect the first blaster bolts searing past his face, and unpleasant memories resurfaced.

_The landing bay, his escape…_

_R2 smoldering, lifeless…_

_No._ It wouldn’t come to this again.

He had learned, grown.

He was in control.

Tightening his grip until the black glove of his right hand screamed in protest, he allowed his reflexes to take over and, feeling the Force flow through him, charged forward. He deflected their fire with ease, knew where they would hit long before the troopers had even pressed the triggers.

Further to his left, Chatter had already taken down two soldiers as Luke felled his first. There was only the blur of battle, instinct rather than thinking as another trooper was struck, a deflected blaster bolt striking him in the vulnerable spot below his helmet.

Before he even knew it, there were only two left. The leader was evasive, skilled to say the least, but Luke would not allow him to triumph.

From their right, another series of loud crashes heralded the firing of canons and caused the ground to rage violently beneath their feet.

Again, the pain in his side flared up and, gasping for air, his left hand slipped from the hilt of his lightsaber to the area just above his ribs.

Too late Luke realized that his opponent had noticed the gesture and made use of his momentary distraction to close in on him. Just as he brought his lightsaber up above his left shoulder to strike, something crashed into his broken ribs with a nauseating crunch, driving all breath from his lungs instantaneously.

Myriads of stars exploded before his eyes as he frantically gulped for air.

Next, there was nothing.

 

 

All about Darth Vader, there was chaos. The air roared with thunder, like an angry beast, injured, thrashing, causing the very earth itself to shake, crumble and collapse. Beyond and within it, the Force was wild, directionless, mad, no help at all against the searing pain running along his charred scalp.

And it was in this chaos, that he heard a familiar voice.

“Father!”

_Luke?_

He spun around, regardless of the consequences and watched in wordless relief as his son hurried towards him, left hand holding his previously injured ribs, the inherited lightsaber clasped firmly in his right. A painful scowl contorted his face into a grimace.

“Father! I’m so glad I finally found you!”

Vader regarded the boy in his disheveled state, drowning out all other exterior input for the moment - although unsure where he had suddenly found the necessary strength.

“You are hurt,” he stated plainly, nodding toward the boy’s side.

“Yeah, well,” Luke responded, flinching, “We were ambushed about a mile back. One of those things gave me a good kick.”

“Ambushed?”

“Yeah. Clawdites. They were dressed in stormtrooper armor - I have no idea how they got their hands on it.”

“There is more going on here than we first suspected.” He commented simply.

 _Indeed, much more than they could have expected_.

For the briefest moment, he opened himself to the Force, pushed past the pealing mayhem and pain and called out. The reaction was faint, dulled, but unmistakable.

_‘Father? Wh–‘_

The sonorous snap-hiss of the lightsaber igniting barely rang above the explosions, but was more than enough to catch the Dark Lord’s attention.

The familiar, bluish blade pulsed quietly, steadily.

Yet, as the boy stepped slowly toward him, bathed in the blood red tint of his visors, it seemed infinitely more like a Sith weapon than it ever had before.


	18. Impediment

 

For a moment, despite the mayhem around him, Darth Vader’s mind was oddly focussed. To his ears, there was only the low hum of his former blade carelessly cutting small circles into the thick air. To his eyes, only the sight of the scrawny youth clad in black, advancing ever so slowly. The boy’s lips moved, but their words didn’t reach him. Couldn’t.

_It wasn’t. It_ couldn’t _be. The Force clearly told him so._

And yet he was transfixed, his right hand defying its natural instinct to draw his own weapon in offence or even an attempt at self-preservation.

“–ther! Father!”

That single, simple word pulled Vader from his daze and made his head snap to the boy’s face. His _son’s_ face.

A neutral, empty look had come over the familiar features, lending them an alien air.

“Won’t you listen to me, father?”

A low growl rumbled in Vader’s chest, yet failed to escape his throat.

“You are not my son”, he pressed out from between gritted teeth, biting back the pain radiating from behind his eyes, bringing back the familiar black spots blotting his vision.

The figure before him cocked its head curiously, a small hint of _something_ – was it _sadness?_ – dulling its eyes.

“So you reject me? Your own son?”

“You are _not_ my son!” Vader snarled, clenching his right hand into a tight fist, the glove’s leather screaming under the strain.

“And still you’re not drawing your weapon”, the figure – _the impostor –_ observed.

The Dark Lord’s hand twitched at his side. He _willed_ it to fly to his belt, unclasp the saber and activate it.

_This is_ not _your son. It is_ not _Luke._

Yet again it refused him.

That… _thing…_ It wasn’t him, Vader knew, wasn’t his son.

And still… those were _his_ blue eyes that always radiated so much curiosity, so much impatience. _His_ small hands, calloused by years of hard farm work he never should have suffered through. _His_ strawy blond hair bleached from exposure to those cursed twin suns. _His_ face that haunted him awake and asleep. That reminded him so much of _her._

“You’re not even going to defend yourself?” the figure said in surprise.

Again Vader gritted his teeth.

He _should_. He really should. But he _couldn’t._

_“_ We knew you _valued_ him,” the thing sighed and brought up the lightsaber. “But this… this is just too easy.”

Unpracticed, sloppily, but with intent, the pulsating blue crashed down toward the Dark Lord. Had his instincts not shoved away conscious thought at that very moment, the blade would have sliced cleanly through his left shoulder plate, torn through his iron lung and then easily exited just above his right hip. Yet as he still seemed to possess at least _some_ measure of will for self-preservation, the lightsaber merely scraped the glove of his right hand with a stinging hiss, searing the black leather, and finally crashed into its crimson counterpart.

Vader’s own movements were slow, sluggish, and even the small task of a simple block nearly sent him to his knees. His body shuddered in pain, the concussion temporarily robbing him of both his balance and sight, and a cold nausea clawed its way up his throat. Even under normal circumstances he would not have been in any condition to duel, he hated to admit.

A small chuckle echoed from the other figure’s throat as it took a measured step sidewards.

“So _this_ is the great Lord Vader,” it almost spat the last words, “Well, at least you seem to finally have found the will to live. …If that’s what you do these days.”

It began to circle him. Slowly but surely, the thing that looked so much like his son swung the saber back and forth. Not quite like a lightsaber. _More like a gaffi-stick_ , Vader noticed, but with some skill nonetheless.

The thing’s movements were predictable, effortless to interrupt. Vader saw each and every opening, the slightest falterings, the most glaring mistakes. It would have been easy to put an end to this spectacle, should not have taken him more than the blink of an eye.

If only the thing had not worn his son’s face.

He found himself unable to attack, incapable of setting in motion those fluid movements which had already brought death so swiftly to countless beings.

He parried each blow, of course, dominated easily in both expertise and strength. And yet he remained on the defence.

Around them, the pandemonium of war persisted. The air was a strange amalgam of sulfur and chlorine, the ground rattled and jerked beneath their feet and the roaring thunder of approaching battle nearly deafened their ears.

And yet the strange pair carried on with its dance unperturbed, oblivious to its surroundings, focused only on the opposer.

Another blow. Another parry barely in time.

Vader’s head swam, black spots eating away at his red tinted vision. Not just his mind, his whole body was resisting the fight. This could not go on forever, he knew.

The longer they sparred, the more restless his adversary seemed to become. His movements grew hurried, eager. He was clearly relishing in their confrontation. Every once in a while, a smirk crossed the oh-so-familiar features, and caused Vader’s stomach to churn. He had seen that smirk before, countless times and under much different circumstances. The illusion was unnervingly perfect, and the Sith Lord was well aware of the dedication achieving it had required. Dedication, observation and, above all, _physical contact_.

He bit back the bile rising up his throat at the thought of that _thing_ laying its hands on his son. _Hurting_ his son. It being in the possession of the boy’s lightsaber attested to that fact. Never would his son have given up the weapon willingly.

Vader felt the dark side swell around him, even despite his feeble grasp. Its whispers subverted the sounds of battle, the ringing of his ears, the pain of his physical being.

_You’ve endangered him again, haven’t you?_

_Couldn’t keep him safe._

_You never can. Never_ could _._

He clenched the hilt of his lightsaber tightly, the damaged servos howling in protest against the strain.

No.

He would not listen. Would not give in to those thoughts.

The figure chuckled again, apparently aware of Vader’s struggle. And the whispers chuckled with it.

“You know, I really expected more than this. I’d say going with the boy was the right decision.”

_Don’t you see?_

_They used him to get to_ you _._

_If not for you, he’d be safe now._

Vader gritted his teeth, tried to focus on the pain behind his eyes, the trauma at his elbow, the wound in his thigh. Anything to drown out the whispers.

“Well, I guess everyone has a weakness. Even Darth Vader.”

A _weakness_?

The ringing turned to static, blood rushing through his ears, the pain to numbness. Coldness.

The insidious voices leapt at the opportunity, eagerly filling in the blanks of suggestion.

_Do you finally understand?_

_He makes you weak. The boy makes you weak._

_Just like_ she _did._

Stop.

_And without strength, what’s left of you?_

_What_ are _you?_

The boy–

_The boy! You are_ nothing _without him!_

_You cling to him for salvation like a babe to its mother’s breast!_

Stop!

_But he will die. Just like all the others._

_Like all those you wanted to protect._

_Your son’s blood will be on your hands._

He roared, like a wild animal in the throes of death, his inhumane cries never meant to communicate.

And the Dark Side rejoiced in the return of its wayward son. It congregated around him, lapped at his pain, drank his fear, consumed his despair. Relished in the nostalgia of his taste.

Numb and blind to the world, fuelled solely by all that was negative, Darth Vader rushed forward, his weapon raised high above his head. With one swift stroke, he cut down his adversary, the surprise never leaving his face until it was replaced by the emptiness of death.

Released from the thing’s grip, Vader’s old lightsaber clattered to the ground and deactivated automatically, the familiar sight cutting through his intoxication and returning him to this senses.

His eyes flicked to the figure lying before him, cut cleanly from shoulder to hip.

With a heavy heart, he studied its features one last time.

It still wore his son’s face.

Suddenly panting, Vader forced himself to avert his gaze from the callous illusion. Slowly, he bent down and picked up his old lightsaber. Yet before clipping it to his belt, he weighed it carefully, thoughtfully.

* * *

 

“Maybe we should take a break,” Chatter tried with a sideways glance at his younger charge, who was leaning onto him heavily, pressing his gloved hand into his injured side.

Luke shook his head, a grimace taking root in his features.

“No, I’m fine.”

The officer issued a disbelieving snort, and Luke felt an involuntary sigh escape his lips in response.

“Alright, maybe I’m not _fine”,_ he admitted grudgingly, “but they’re only a little further. I can manage.”

He clearly perceived his father’s signature in the Force. Even despite the tumult surrounding the older man’s presence, it stood out to him like a beacon. And it was on the move, slowly but steadily advancing in their direction. Almost there. That thought alone spurned Luke on, helped him bite back the pain slicing through his side with each step he took. Knowing that his father was safe, albeit injured and in discomfort, eased the nagging fear and guilt in his chest, allowed him to breath just a little easier. Whatever those things had done to his father, his nightmare had not become reality. And for that he was immeasurably grateful.

The pair walked on in silence, occasionally struggling as another explosion shook the ground and sent Luke to his knees. But Chatter was always there, a quick hand to help him up and steady his shaking legs, despite his own - obviously painful - injury. A part of this dedication sprang from his sense of obligation to keep him, his commander’s son, safe, Luke knew. But that was not all. There was a mutual trust between them, a camaraderie so simple and honest that he sometimes still felt himself startled when his eyes slid over the white plastoid armor, the Imperial-issue blaster. Then, in those moments, he smirked to himself.

_Luke Skywalker, fast friends with an Imperial stormtrooper. Who’d have thought!_

To his left, he felt said trooper straightening.

“There they are!” he stated, nodding ahead.

Luke gazed up from where he had been watching his steps and, sure enough, just above the low ridge a little ahead of them, appeared three helmets, two white, one black.

He breathed an involuntary sigh of relief and, although wanting nothing more than to break into a run and finally meet with his father, felt himself slump against Chatter’s side, the last of his strength and adrenaline finally slipping away. The trooper braced himself as he adjusted his grip on the boy and gently sat him down on the ground. With his uninjured left hand, he signalled to his commander and comrades.

The trio quickened their steps, although the two soldiers had a hard time keeping up with their commanding officer, whose long strides brought him to his son’s side within mere moments.

“Father! Are you–” Luke began but was easily cut off by Vader’s sonorous baritone.

“You are injured,” he stated plainly, efficiently, and turned to his approaching subordinates. “Commander, see to his wounds .” Quickly, his head snapped back.

“What happened?” The question was directed not at Luke, but Chatter, who answered promptly, his voice unwavering - something for which the boy would always give him credit.

“Approximately two hours ago, we encountered a group of Clawdites disguising as our men, Sir. They claimed to have regrouped with you and to have been tasked with escorting us to the rendezvous point. When their charade fell, they attacked. One of them exploited your son’s previous injury to decide the fight. I, of course, take full responsibility.”

Luke’s head snapped up from where he had been watching the Commander prod carefully at his bruised side.

“Chatter! You– Father, he–” he stammered, suddenly fearing for his companion’s well-being, well aware of the older man’s tempers. Yet again, he was cut short, the raised gloved hand enough to quell his words.

“The circumstances were unforeseeable”, he conceded. “You did well in bringing the boy back to me. He is not always… _easily_ _handled_.”

Luke saw Chatter salute sharply, his lips moving in sync with his splinted hand, but he heard none of it. Too great was his shock at his father’s admission, too surprising this sudden leniency.

At his side, the Commander still busied himself with the bruise that now covered the better part of his torso, blooming in a spectrum of colors ranging from angry red to sickly yellow to dull black. Under the watchful eye of Darth Vader, the ungloved hands slid over protruding ribs and obvious fractures, causing Luke to inhale sharply every once in a while. Still, the hands remained steady and focused.

“There are three clean fractures,” the Commander stated after his inspection, “Luckily, none of the broken bones have shifted toward the internal organs. The muscle tissue around the fractures is likely damaged, however, and will cause intense pain. But there is no immediate danger. We only have a few bacta patches, some light narcotics and bandages, but I will administer what I can.”

“Good”, Vader nodded briefly.

Luke shot a curious glance at him. No matter how chaotic the Force around him, how disconnected his father was from it, the boy clearly felt it. Relief. A pure and obvious wave of relief ebbed in and out of their link, uncontrolled, possibly even unnoticed by the older man. Relief that he was safe, had made it back to him. But there was more. Something different, something he had not perceived before, certainly not with his father. He couldn’t tell what it was, couldn’t define it, or even guess at its nature. Yet it made him uneasy, caused a strange flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the painkillers or the broken ribs.

While the Commander unhurriedly applied a handful of bacta patches from their remaining stash, Luke studied his father, inspecting the damage he had taken during and after their fall. The ebony suit was heavily caked in dust, scratched and dented, even nicked in places, and Luke had to fight a sudden wave of panic at the thought of irreparable damage to his father’s lifeline.

“Are you alright?” he asked anxiously, almost stumbling over his own words as he took in the limpness of the left arm, the deep cut in the older man’s thigh.

The black form studied him in return, deliberating its words before he answered.

“Superficial wounds”, he stated plainly, “Do not concern yourself with them.”

Luke nodded, the easy reassurance shrinking the lump in his throat, allowing the panic to subside.

After a few more minutes, he added carefully:

“What happened? That one Clawdite–” he began, unsure of how to continue, insecure in the presence of so many curious ears, “He… I–”

Ever so slightly, Vader straightened, their link suddenly bristling.

“Now is not the time to discuss such matters,” he cut him off. Still, the simple suggestion of what had happened in his absence intensified that strange, indefinable sensation Luke had perceived earlier. Made it so strong he _almost_ understood. Almost.

Yet before he could investigate further, the other officer in Vader’s company, a Captain, pointed to the west and called their attention.

“Signal flares! Must be the rescue party.”

Luke’s gaze followed the gesture and, sure enough, two pillars of yellow smoke, almost hidden in the haze of battle, snaked their way skywards.

“It seems Admiral Piett managed to get some guys down here before the shields went up”, Chatter commented.

“So it appears,” Vader nodded and briskly turned the Captain. “Prepare our remaining flares and signal when ready. We must establish contact.”

“Yes, Sir.”

* * *

 

Impatiently, Piett paced the length of the _Executor_ ’s bridge for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few hours. He constantly stopped here and there, spying over his officers’ shoulders, shooting them the same questions over and over again. ‘Any news?’ ‘Have you found anything?’ ‘Are the reports in yet?’

He was making his crew anxious, he knew - the tension in their hunched shoulders and tight faces was quite obvious - but he could not help himself. His commanding officer, the _Second-in-Command_ of the Galactic Empire no less, was missing in action, along with his son, and Piett felt utterly and solely responsible for the dilemma.

The reports hadn’t said anything of planetary shields, not even of ion cannons of the size it needed to take down a shielded shuttle from orbit. Clearly, the reports had been lacking, to say the least. Reports gathered by their intel operatives, not the Admiral himself. Nevertheless, as the ship’s commander, he was responsible. Held _himself_ responsible.

“Admiral!” a comms officer called while hastening toward him, a datapad clutched tightly in his hand.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, our low-flying scouts report two series of signal flares near the Syre Ridge, one in the projected vector of the shuttle’s crash site.”

Hastily, Piett grabbed the datapad and skimmed through the report.

Yes, two series of flares. _Yellow_ flares.

“Well done, Lieutenant. Calculate the coordinates and distribute them among our troops. Instruct them to take additional medical equipment. As soon as we get a window, we get them down there.”

The Lieutenant saluted briskly and hurried off, leaving Piett to release a breath he never knew he had held.

Two yellow flares. Target reached but partial contact only. Injured persons. Then the second series in response, almost certainly fired by Lord Vader’s company, again yellow. Injured persons.

Yellow, but not red. No dead.

After all, injury was to be expected after a fall like that.

Well, to be honest, _death_ had to be expected after a fall like that.

Yet when Lord Vader was involved, the expected was only rarely the actual outcome.

His commander was alive, and so was his son. Still, either - or both - could possibly be injured, stranded unfit for battle in an active war zone. They had no time to lose.

And as he issued his commands, ushered his officers and crew to work even more diligently and hastily on discovering any way to deactivate the planetary shields, the boy’s astromech droid whistled on excitedly. It rocked back and forth, chimed and hooted for attention, but Piett paid him no mind.

First, there were more pressing issues to take care of.

He took a deep breath and straightened himself.

“Captain, take over my post. I need to prepare a report for the capital.”

* * *

 

Vader set down the hydrospanner with a frustrated growl and let his left arm fall limply back to his side. The tool was of no use, simply much too big and unsophisticated. His arm would have to remain useless until he found better equipment.

Impatiently, he flexed the gloved fingers of his right hand - it, too, was damaged, yet not seriously enough to impede its use - and regarded the small toolbox at his feet. He was good at repairing things. It helped him ease his mind, gain focus. Sometimes it even seemed that if he only tried long enough, he might just be able to fix himself, his own damaged existence. Yet what really were the odds?

_‘What’s left of you?_

_What_ are _you?’_

He quickly shook off the thought and swept his gaze over their makeshift shelter, barely more than a handful of thermal blankets and open crates of rations and medical supplies scattered on the ground. This was certainly neither the place nor the time for setting up camp, and under normal circumstance, Vader would have preferred to hasten their rendezvous with the rescue team. His own injuries were something he could tolerate. His son’s, however, he could not. Even though the boy claimed he was fine, the sight of his torso attested to the opposite. So did the hesitation and clumsiness with which he moved. Clearly, pressing on was not an option.

Without fail, Vader’s eyes found the small body of his son, propped up against a larger crate and wrapped in blankets. Next to him was their communications officer, and the pair seemed to be in easy conversation, the boy smiling and laughing from time to time. It was just like him to make friends in circumstances as dire as the present ones. Human contact seemed to come naturally to him.

People seemed drawn to him, his carefree attitude, his honesty and accepting openness. Not quite unlike…

_No_.

Vader brushed away the spectral sounds of laughter, of communal celebration. Chased off the vision of the blue-eyed ghost sitting in their midst, so full of spirit and… _hope_.

So without care.

He shook his head to mechanically erase the last traces of the phantoms.

He had not been this man in a long time, not in this life anyway, and would never be again.

_‘What’s left of you?_

_What_ are _you?’_

Unbidden, the memory of the voices returned, once again taunting.

_‘What_ are _you?’_

Indeed, what was he?

The obvious answer came easily. He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Second-in-Command of the Galactic Empire.

Yet the answer was as easy as it was insufficient.

Since he had discovered the boy’s existence, he had become so much more, and yet, at the same time, so much less.

He had become the father, who barely even knew the meaning of the word.

He had become the teacher, who had so little to teach and so much to learn.

He had become the subordinate, who wished for nothing but to subvert his master.

It was all centered around the boy.

Everything he did, everything he was.

_‘You are_ nothing _without him!’_

Truly, he might very well be.

_‘He makes you weak!’_

And today, he had.

It had taken nothing more than the boy’s face to nearly disable him. How could he ever hope to succeed if he was so easily manipulated? How could he ever keep the boy safe?

_‘He makes you weak!’_

And still, in a way, it had been the boy who had saved him. His own rage at the inability to protect him. His own fear for his son’s life. His desolation at the thought of losing him, losing everything.

The Dark Side had been strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. Had burned fast and brightly with the ready fuel.

Vader shuddered at the dichotomy, at the implications only half understood, half examined.

Thoughtfully, he regarded the boy.

He would need to be on his guard.

A moment later, however, he was torn from his musings as a sudden commotion demanded his attention.

From the west, a small group of stormtroopers approached with quick step, weapons at the ready.

Hastily, his head sending an instant shudder of pain down his spine in complaint, he rose and strode to meet them. Their recent experiences still fresh in mind, he was cautious, but the small crew’s commander quickly dispelled his doubts as he removed his helmet and identified himself to his superior.

“Lord Vader, it is a relief to find you safe.”

Backup from the ranks of his 501st, the Dark Lord registered with satisfaction. Good men. Trustworthy soldiers, handpicked.

“We cannot waste time, Commander,” he replied, as the group gathered around them. “Give me a status report.”

The officer complied, informing Vader of their orders and progress so far.

“I have left two of mine with the officers we found near the lake”, he commented.

“Scorch and Bagger!” he heard his son muttered at his left, “Are they okay?”

The Commander gave the hint of a smirk.

“Not to worry. What we need to take care of first are the planetary shields. We saw one of the generators during our descent, approximately 30 klicks to the southeast. If we can disable it, we might be able to create a large enough window to regain communication with the _Executor_.”

Vader nodded.

“Very well. As soon as you have distributed the medication and rations, we will head out. Commander, you and a handful of your men will accompany me to the generator. The sooner the issue is dealt with, the better. You, Captain”, he turned toward his pilot, “will take my son and the rest of the officers and get him to our closest fortification. See to it that our wounded are treated.”

“You’re gonna try and leave me again? Really?”

He should have expected the resistance, naturally, yet somehow he had thought his son wise enough to delay the argument until less prying eyes and ears were directed at them.

“You, my son, are in no condition to travel, much less fight. I will not have the mission and my men endangered by your presence.”

Despite the feeble quality of his connection to the Force, Vader felt the anger in his son, felt annoyance and frustration rise and billow.

“And you’re not putting them in danger by sending them halfway around the planet _just_ so they can get me to safety? That’s a waste, and you know it! You need every single man to get to that generator and take it out. You can’t waste them on being my babysitters!”

The boy’s blue eyes were hard, unrelenting, and Vader felt the tension swell. His men were certainly surprised, but - to their credit - hid it well. The Dark Lord himself, however, could not claim such skill. A low growl escaped his throat.

“Sir, if I may…” the communications officer - Chatter - stepped forward, unfaltering.

“What?” he almost barked in reply, yet the trooper did not flinch, and Vader almost admired him for it.

“Sir, as much as I agree with you, I think it is safe to say that your son is a stubborn one. If he thinks he should accompany you, I’m not sure a battalion of our best soldiers could keep him from it.”

Although he ground his teeth in frustration and felt like lashing out at the soldier, quite possibly even should have, he had to admit that there was some truth to what the other had said. If a Skywalker wanted something, you could simply not keep him from it. Luke had proven so before.

Perhaps it was best if he were able to keep an eye on the boy.

“Very well”, he agreed finally, and glanced from the officer to his son and back. “From now on, his safety will be your responsibility. I advise you _not_ to take it lightly.”

* * *

 

Piett swallowed, his gloved fingers intertwined to keep him from fumbling nervously. He had never particularly enjoyed communicating with the Emperor directly; although he felt no more fear than was to be expected in the face of a figure of such power, there had always been something that made him feel uneasy in his presence, even if only holographic. Of course his times as Supreme Chancellor were long passed, and there was no longer the need to conceal his true nature to those serving him. And yet it wasn’t that scheming and plotting that unnerved Piett; every capable leader was prone to it at some point. No, there was something different, something unpredictable, something…nefarious, for lack of a better word.

“Sir, the Emperor is now ready to speak to you,” the young comm officer alerted.

The Admiral gave him a brief nod and stepped into the suite. As soon as he activated the transmitting platform, the Emperor’s bluish outline flickered into existence, no more than life-sized even if elevated. Still, a far cry from the imposing and domineering image Piett had seen created in the Dark Lord’s personal comms suite.

“Admiral, I hear you bring news from the frontlines.”

Piett bowed, as much in respect as in an attempt to calm his uneasy mind with a few unobserved, measured breaths.

“My Lord, the rescue team has made contact with Lord Vader and his company. There are injured among them, but no dead.”

“Yes. Yes, so said your report. Have you established how Lord Vader’s son came to be on the shuttle?”

Piett was surprised. Of all the details important to the situation, he had not considered this particular issue one of them.

“Not fully, my Lord. His astromech claims that the boy acted on an understanding that it would save his father’s life. He is not forthcoming on the details however.”

“Save his life? Quite interesting,” the old man commented, his eyes fixed on Piett yet barely seeing him, “Tell me, Admiral, was the boy not previously injured?”

Firmus Piett knew he was being toyed with. The Emperor was well aware of all circumstances at all times; this would not have escaped his notice.

“Yes, my Lord. He had suffered fractures of his ribs during the incident in the Works. I believe he was convalescing.”

“Is there any indication as to whether he has suffered further injuries or trauma?”

_Why these questions? What in the Worlds was going on?_

“We can not know for certain, my Lord, not until communication is restored.”

“Yes, you are quite right,” Palpatine conceded. “We must not get ahead of ourselves.”

The older man stood quiet for a moment, as if deliberating, until he gave one final order whose implications sent a chill down Piett’s spine.

“Recovering the boy is your first priority. It eclipses all else. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

* * *

 

Night was falling quickly, and although travelling under the guise of darkness could at times prove beneficial, it certainly would not on a planet where a single misstep might sent one hurling off a ridge or stumbling into a freshly lain field of land mines. So it was decided, without further ado, that they would set up camp and move on at sunrise.

And although his pride probably wouldn’t let him admit it, Luke was glad. Even with the bacta patches, painkillers and tight supportive bandage, his broken ribs continued to torment him. The day’s walk had been long and arduous, and every once in a while he had felt Chatter’s hand on his shoulder, righting him as he slipped. Each new step, each movement had sent a tremor through his torso, his fractured ribs and injured muscles shifting ever so slightly even despite the bandage that was to hold them in place. It would probably be another sleepless night, he sighed to himself.

But his injury was not the only thing troubling him.

He had expected his father’s anger toward him. Defying Darth Vader was, after all, far from a good idea, especially in front of his subordinates. Yet Luke suspected that the strange, distanced behavior the older man had shown throughout the entire day had far more reasons, different ones, much more complicated ones.

And his last name wouldn’t be Skywalker if he weren’t curious to find out just what was going on.

He easily found his father, sitting off to the side, a multitool on his right, fingers probing the suit just above his left elbow.

Luke approached him without hesitation and sat down on a crate close to him, careful not to upset his ribs in the process.

For a while, they sat in silence, neither yielding, neither wanting to take the next step. Then, finally, Luke sighed.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he conceded, “I probably shouldn’t have done that. Not like that. But I–”

“No matter. I should have expected no less,” his father commented, and Luke felt himself bristle at the statement. Was that criticism? Resignation?

Yet his opportunity to further investigate the matter passed as Vader finally looked up and let his gaze wander from his son’s face to his side.

“How is your injury? It appears to have troubled you.”

“Well, no more than yours. I’ll live”, he shrugged easily, and almost thought he felt his father tense at the words.

“We will see to that,” Vader commented after a short silence and let his hand glide to his belt to unclip the saber fastened next to his own. He held the weapon out to his son, who took it from him unhurriedly. As the older man retracted his hand, Luke noticed, for the first time, that there was a fresh nick in the cybernetic limb, a singed groove in the otherwise smooth leather.

“Did… that _thing_ do that?” he nodded toward the injury, noticing his father’s surprise. “Did I–”

“That was _not_ you,” his father growled instantly, not even letting him finish his sentence. Clearly, the incident troubled him. Was _that_ what had made him so distant all of a sudden? But… why?

“What happened, father? Tell me.”

Vader seemed to debate with himself for a moment, regarding the new injury, but ultimately decided against giving in to his son’s request.

“It was nothing. I was careless.”

Luke expelled a frustrated sigh. His father could be so stubborn sometimes.

“Look, I… A few days before we left, back on the _Executor_ , I had this dream…” Vader’s head shot up at that, fixing his son in an intense stare. “I was walking through some battlefield. There were explosions and bodies… body-parts, everywhere. I was holding my lightsaber,” he touched the ancient weapon at that, running his fingers along the cool metal, “and… then I found you, and… and I killed you… just like that.” Luke had to swallow at the memory, to work past the lump in this throat so he could continue. “That was the reason. That’s why I snuck onto the shuttle. I… I couldn’t let you go alone!”

Vader was still scrutinising him.

“You should have told me,” he reprimanded finally. “I remember instructing you to.”

Luke was stumped. That couldn’t _possibly_ be why he was acting like that, could it? Wounded pride? The fact that he hadn’t done as he had been told? It certainly hadn’t been the first time.

“Okay, yes, maybe I should have, but we’d just fought! I was still mad at you! You were going to leave me behind! You know you wouldn’t have listened to me anyway. It… It was just a dream after all!” Luke gestured wildly, already feeling his ribs beginning to wail in protest. But he needed to make his father understand.

The latter however remained strangely calm. And although Luke was still unable to establish a lasting link to his father, the Force allowed him glimpses, short and fragmented, but unmistakable. Luke stopped short, a frown distorting his features.

Sadness.

Regret.

“Son, to a Skywalker, a dream is never just a dream.”


	19. Supplication

 

 

“You mean my dreams show the future.”

Vader gave a curt nod.

“Yes. Though not all of them do.”

The older man’s gaze swept the impromptu campsite, yet rather in trying to avoid his son’s inquisitive eyes than in true search or surveillance.

“I had hoped you would have been spared”, he supplied finally, “but I should have known that we were not to be so fortunate.”

This unusually open, even _personal_ confession instantly piqued Luke’s interest. Here was yet another chance to learn more about his father, his past, the man he had been before… before he had _changed._

All he had to do was ask the right questions.

“Spared? Aren’t they just another Force thing? You know, like levitation? I always thought all Force users had them.”

His father responded with a sound somewhere between a snort and a huff of indignation - Luke couldn’t be quite sure which.

“They are hardly ‘ _just another Force thing’_ ”, he stressed the final words in overt reprimand, “Premonitory dreams, while certainly connected to the Force and quite likely amplified if not even enabled by it, are by no means a common matter. They are quite rare even among the most powerful sensitives. And even most of those primarily report of vague sensations, ideas, emotions.”

An involuntary ‘huh’ escaped Luke’s lips as he digested his father’s information and contemplated it. Those words hardly described his own experiences - his dreams were far from mere sensations and ideas. Most of the time - when he was sure they were true premonitions rather than figments of his overly active imagination - his were as clear and immersive as the latest holovid blockbuster.

“Mine are usually pretty clear”, he commented in an offhand manner, “I guess yours are, too?”

The Dark Lord remained quiet for a while, an unbidden wave of nostalgia threatening to break the calm surface. How was it that the boy so effortlessly brought back to life images and feelings he himself had had so much trouble burying? He pushed the thought away.

“Sometimes,” he supplied finally, “Some visions are clear, while others demand interpretation. That, however, is not always an easy task.”

Luke’s gaze slipped from the stormtroopers sitting in idle conversation back to the ebony surface of his father’s helmet, the normally perfectly polished and symmetrical shell now littered with dents and scratches and covered in dust. A silent testament to the struggle of the past hours. As it was on the surface, so it was in the Force. The fabric around his father was still in uproar, upheaved by the loss of control and direction of one of its beloved sons. The Force mourned him, lamented their passing separation, raged at the harm that had been done. All this Luke perceived so clearly it became almost painful to linger in the older man’s presence. 

Still he remained, wondering if his father had even the smallest inkling of his own position within the fabric of the Force, if he was at all aware of how much the light longed to embrace him again, embrace him _completely_. Or did the shades of the dark side obscure it all to keep the stolen child closer to itself?

As so often these past weeks, questions surfaced in Luke’s mind, some clear and defined, others still mere vague notions. And as he had done just so often, he clenched his teeth and heavy-heartedly decided to leave them for a more fitting, more promising moment.

Instead, he watched as his father flexed his left hand and growled at the delayed and only small reaction he got in return. The fingers only moved mere centimeters when they had obviously been commanded to form a fist. A quick glance up his father’s arm revealed the source of the problem slightly above the elbow.

“Problems with your arm?” 

Vader regarded his son curiously, then slowly lowered the injured appendage in a show of disinterest. 

“Barely. Minor blunt force trauma inflicted during our… _impromptu_ landing. A small inconvenience, no more.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. So his father wanted to play stubborn? Well, that was a game Luke had mastered a long time ago. For all intents and purposes, he _was_ still a teenager.

“But it looks like you can’t use that hand. Why don’t you just repair it?”

His father seemed taken aback by the audacity of the question, but quickly recovered his composure and emitted what must have entered the vocoder as a sigh.

“I don’t have the means to do so at the moment. But be sure that I will when the opportunity arises.”

Luke suppressed the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest - not sure whether his father might take offence at the gesture - and simply shifted his weight a little to one side, all the while careful not to upset his throbbing ribs. 

“I could give it a shot.”

For a while, Luke thought his father would not even deign to respond to his suggestion, preposterous as it might seem to him. True, he hadn’t fixed anything as complex as his father’s suit yet; the synthenet and connectors alone were likely more sophisticated than all the tech on Tatooine scraped together. But there was no harm in trying, right?

“That won’t be necessary,” was the curt reply when it finally came.

Yet Luke would be no Skywalker if he gave up so quickly. Sometimes you had to beat people with their own weapons.

“You sure? Once we get anywhere near the shield generators, there’s gonna be a lot of fighting, so you’ll need your lightsaber”, he took a brief, dramatic pause to gain momentum for the final blow, “and like you always say ‘ _Always hold your lightsaber with both hands. It gives you strength and control.’”_

Luke only just so managed to keep himself from imitating his father’s sonorous baritone for the quote; the grin, however, refused to be concealed.

The longer the silence held off the reprimands, the more certain of his victory he was. 

Eventually, his father conceded, surprisingly without even the slightest reproach.

“Very well.”

“Alright”, Luke nodded enthusiastically and hastily moved to his father’s left, his side screeching in protest. 

Having found a more or less comfortable position, he methodically inspected the damaged area; the arm’s neural plate lay exposed, a large part of its connectors torn and crushed.

Luke frowned in concentration.

“Looks like most of the connectors to the neural plate are wrecked”, he diagnosed.

In the back of his mind, Luke knew that his father was watching him curiously, observing his every move, every mere twitch of a muscle, but as always when he was in the process of repairing something, all other external stimuli receded into the static of background noise, his concentration perfectly focused on the damaged tech before him.

“Hmm… now let’s see where this goes…” Luke murmured to himself, completely engrossed, while tracing a particularly frayed wire. His fingers, small and nimble as they were, seemed clumsy and overly large against the delicate wiring and miniature connectors, brackets and sockets. Once or twice, his grip almost slipped, kept in place by sheer willpower - and fear of his father’s reaction - alone. 

“All of this is so… _tiny_ ”, Luke commented, his eyes still focused on his task, “You usually do the repairs yourself, don’t you? How can you manage with those gloves? Stars, I’m having enough trouble getting to these wires with just _one_ artificial hand.”

It took Luke a moment to realise what his brain had just let slip past his lips, and when he did, a deep blush crept into his cheeks.

“Uh, I don’t… I mean…” he stuttered, unsure of how to salvage the situation so as to not put his father off and give him another excuse to become distanced yet again.

When Vader eventually spoke, however, he appeared completely nonplussed. Either he had decided to relieve his son’s shame by simply pretending he did not care, or he truly was not bothered by his own corporeal impediments. 

“One can become accustomed to any situation. It simply takes time and patience,” Vader supplied, and eventually added, “And perhaps a few modifications.”

Curiosity allowed Luke to forget both blush and deadly shame and look at his father in what others might call admiration.

“You improve your armor? That’s why you were there when Two One Bee worked on my hand, isn’t it? You’d make some modifications and wanted to make sure they worked right.”

Vader nodded.

“Of course. Attaching a cybernetic limb is a delicate procedure, especially so when fingers or hands are concerned. You are quite fortunate progress has been as rapid as it has. Many years ago, when…”

He suddenly stopped, realising where his train of thought had taken him.

Luke felt tense. He was close, _so close_.

“When what…?” he tried hesitantly, carefully, hoping to somehow coax out the piece of likely very personal information his father had almost let slip. Personal information, Luke guessed, of before he had fallen to the Dark Side and become who… or maybe _what_ he was now.

Yet he shouldn’t be so lucky.

“Nothing. Just… consider yourself fortunate…” 

Yet _another_ topic for another time, Luke thought. _Time and patience, huh?_

With an inaudible sigh, he turned his concentration back to his work, once more forgetting the world around him, with all its questions, worries, troubles and fears. As if having a life of their own, his fingers sorted wires, clipped damaged sections, isolated where insulation had been burnt through.

“Hmm… I _might_ be able to reroute this…” he muttered to himself, rather in deep rumination than to provide information.

For a while he busily rearranged damaged filaments, checked conductivity and eventually locked the new connections down.

“There”, he concluded, wiping his dirtied hands on the front of his - thankfully black - shirt, and looked back at his father. “That should do it. For now at least.”

Curiously, Vader slightly bent his arm at the elbow and commanded his hand to form a fist. And it did. While there was still a slight delay in the movement, the tips of gloved fingers met the leather clad palm and exerted adequate pressure. The Dark Lord repeated the gesture a few times, familiarising himself with its feel.

Luke, however, didn’t seem entirely happy.

“I had to reroute a large part of the wires, so, I guess, some data gets lost on the way. Tactile sense seems to be worst off,” he sighed and gave a tired shrug, “I’m sorry, it’s the best I could do.”

His father regarded him curiously for a moment and Luke wasn’t quite sure what was going through the older man’s head. Was he disappointed? Did he regret letting his son help him? The Force was in too much turmoil and he was much too tired to pry.

“You did very well”, Vader complimented a surprised Luke, “This will prove quite helpful.”

He removed some thick black insulating tape from the toolbox and generously applied it to the newly repaired section, all the while careful not to undo any of the boy’s work. Not nearly perfect, but still much better than he could have hoped to accomplish on his own.

Having completed his task, he turned back to his son. No longer energized by his unique task, Luke’s eyelids grew heavy, signs of a much too long day finally drawing to a close.

“As you insisted so fervently that I be ready for the battle ahead, I now ask the same of you.”

Luke raised an eyebrow in question.

“You should sleep.”

A small noise somewhere between a snort and an amused laugh escaped the boy’s lips.

“Yeah, well, if it were that easy…”

“So you are having trouble sleeping”, Vader stated plainly. “Again.”

“It’s been a little difficult, with everything that’s going on”, Luke responded, absent-mindedly running a hand over his bruised ribs, soothingly. “I’ve been meditating though, it helps.”

His father regarded him quietly for a while, studying the tired, still boyish features until it almost became uncomfortable.

“It might help, but simple meditation can never be a true replacement.”

Before Luke could even try to ask what he meant, the older man continued.

“Sit back.”

“What? Why?”

“Sit back.” Vader said again, a little more forcefully, as any parent would with their trying offspring.

“Well, alright…” Luke murmured to himself, sitting down with his back against a cast-plast crate.

“Now, close your eyes, and _no more questions!”_ he preempted his son’s repeated interruption.

More curiously than grudgingly, Luke did as he was told. Maybe his father would show him a new meditation technique? Maybe one he himself used? Maybe…

He suddenly felt his father’s presence more acutely, felt the older man’s mind become closer to his own, almost one.

He expected the voice, the silent one that was so different from the intimidating bass produced by the vocoder, but was - even though never truly heard - still so inherently, familiarly his father’s. Yet his mind remained quiet.

Then, without announcement or explanation, there was a minuscule _nudge,_ and darkness joined the quiet.

As Luke’s mind slipped into unconsciousness, perhaps even sleep, he thought he finally _’heard’_ \- or was it wishful thinking? - that familiar voice.

“My help for yours, son. And now, rest.”

 

* * *

 

“Mon! Please, wait”, Leia called, “Mon!”

The figure hurrying down the corridor in front of her tensed, slowly coming to a halt while its shoulders rose and fell in silent exhalation.

“Mon!”

As Leia caught up with the older woman, the latter slowly turned around toward her, gaze stern but sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Mon, but I really need to talk. My appeal–“ 

Mon Mothma raised her hand in interruption. 

“Leia, please”, she began, her voice soft, “High Command has made their decision.”

The Princess swallowed a harsh comeback.

“But… There must be _something_ you can do. I… I just need more time. Tomorrow is just… it’s far too early!”

This time, Mon Mothma’s sigh was clearly audible.

“Considering the state the Alliance, tomorrow might be barely in time. Many of our allied systems are appalled by the current developments regarding Skywalker. Some have even threatened to withdraw their support. They are calling for clear, decisive actions. We can _not_ afford to ignore them any longer. We simply do not have that luxury.”

Leia felt her anger welling up to the surface again. Anger at her own inability to do something, _anything._ And anger at the people’s superficiality, their readiness to believe in anything mass media fed them. 

“But this is Luke we’re talking about, Mon! He’s a good person, better than any of us!”

She didn’t mind sounding desperate. After all, in all honesty, she was. Very much so.

“That was also my impression”, Mon Mothma replied, steadily holding Leia’s gaze. “But personal opinions have no bearing on this matter. We must do what is best for the Alliance. We have come too far to jeopardise everything now. So much hangs in the balance.”

“So does Luke’s _life_!” Leia exclaimed, “You and I both know he hates the Empire as much as any of us; he would never do this without a very good reason. There’s much more going on here than we can understand at the moment - and I think we should find out what it is before making any decisions we’ll regret later.” 

“Leia…”, Mon Mothma began calmly, folding her hands in front of her, “I believe in the Alliance and what it stands for. We are the final bulwark against the Empire’s subjugation of the entire galaxy. I have dedicated not only my career but my whole life to this purpose. And so have you. Are you truly willing to sacrifice that much for one person?”

 _Was she?_ It surprised her to realise that, indeed, she was. Without even needing to consider, she was not just willing, but rather compelled to leave it all behind, if need be. Others would take her place, but this was something she felt only she could do. She owed Luke at least that much.

Realising that the younger woman was not responding, Mon Mothma added:

“I’m truly sorry, Leia, but I have stalled them for as long as I could. With this kind of evidence, my hands are bound.”

Now it was Leia’s turn to sigh. Of course she understood, on a rational, objective level, but that did precious little to resolve the situation. And her anger about it.

“There is something we’re missing here, I just know it. This whole… _travesty_ of Luke being Vader’s son, it makes no sense. Luke is a Skywalker, he was very adamant about that, and so was General Kenobi. He couldn’t have been wrong.”

Mon Mothma cocked her head, her eyes dimming in recollection, remembrance.

“Well, if this is the same Anakin Skywalker I remember, he may well have been.”

Leia started.

“Wait, what? You _knew_ Anakin Skywalker? Why didn’t you say so before?”

The older woman gave a small, nostalgic smile.

“Well, most anybody old enough to remember the Clone Wars would know him. He was quite famous, for a Jedi Knight. He and Kenobi were legends on the battlefield, veritable heroes of the Republic.”

Still unable to believe her luck, the Princess did not even realise that she was staring at her former mentor.

“But there’s nothing in any of the archives! It was all purged!”

“Well, of course”, Mon Mothma explained the obvious, “After Palpatine’s ascension to Emperor, the Jedi were considered traitors, enemies of the state. Any mention of them, spoken or written, was forbidden under harsh punishment - the Emperor likely feared the former guardians of peace and justice would be able to garner sympathy and gather enough strength to oppose the new government. The Jedi Purges did not just eradicate the Jedi themselves, but even their legacy. Thousands of years of it.”

Leia’s head was spinning, trying to keep up with the new information, working it into a coherent structure and testing her theories against it.

“But then… it all makes sense! I mean, why shouldn’t Luke be Anakin’s son?”

“It’s not that easy”, Mon Mothma supplied, “Skywalker was a Jedi, and those lived by a very strict code. It forbid them from forming emotional attachments. From their childhood Jedi were trained to remain objective, neutral. If they proved unfit, they would be expelled from the Order, no matter the circumstances. And Skywalker was not just an ordinary Jedi, but a member of the High Council.”

“But that doesn’t mean anything!” Leia almost shouted in her excitement. “People have always broken the rules. Maybe they kept it a secret, hid him away.”

In spite of the situation, Mon Mothma gave a short laugh.

“I doubt it is that simple.”

“What happened to him?” Leia asked hesitantly, already knowing part of the answer. Knowing he likely suffered the same fate as most of the Jedi.

“He died, like most of the others, during Order 66. I believe he fell defending the Jedi Temple in the capital.”

Leia hummed softly, absent-mindedly kneading her lower lip. There was something there, she knew. If there was any chance for her to find out what was going on - what was _really_ going on - with Luke, this was it. This was just the clue she had been looking for.

“Is there any chance that you could get me access to all that information?”

 

* * *

 

A sharp, stinging sensation shook the boy’s side, driving the breath from his lungs within split seconds. As his eyes flew open and he gasped, on reflex, for air, the rash, clumsy movement awarded him with yet another overwhelming wave of pain.

Indistinctly, he felt a heavy hand fall onto his shoulder, steadying him in a firm grip.

“Hey, slow there! Don’t rush it!”

Blinking away the pinprick fireworks, his eyes lazily focused on the armored figure next to him. _White plastoid armor, black body glove. A stormtrooper? In the distance, the thunderous peal of detonations. Bombardment? His side afire, severely limiting his ability to breathe almost to the point of suffocation._ Frantically, his head shot about, searching for reason and meaning. _What in the worlds…?!_

 _“_ Luke, hey, look at me! Luke!”

He forced his eyes to find the mouth that had uttered the words - that person knew his name, after all. Slowly, hesitantly, he took in the whole face and recollection finally came. Brought sense back to the world.

“Chatter?” he asked, still breathless, his voice thick and scratchy.

_Right. Zolan. The crash. Chatter and the others, his father. His broken ribs._

“You were really out of it, huh?” the other man commented with a ready smirk. 

Carefully pushing himself up into a sitting position, the thin blanket sliding down to his waist, Luke let his gaze wander about the campsite, taking in the situation. 

“What time is it?”

“Shortly after 0400. Not much longer till sunrise”, Chatter replied helpfully, “Guess you finally caught some shut-eye.”

Luke emitted a questioning noise as memories of the previous night came back to him and his eyes found his father at the edge of the site, intently studying a datapad.

“I guess.”

Chatter followed his gaze and grinned.

Noticing the expression from the corner of his eye, the boy raised his eyebrows in a frown.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing”, came the quick, dismissive reply.

Yet naturally Luke, being the Skywalker he, after all, was, would not just take that for an answer.

“Well”, Chatter began slowly, mulling over his words, “Lord Vader… He’s _different_ when you’re around.”

Luke snorted involuntarily. 

“Yeah, more stressed and annoyed, probably.”

This comment earned him a deep, earnest laugh from the trooper.

“Well, that, too. But that’s not what I mean. You’re changing him, I guess you have since he first found out about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, don’t get me wrong, Lord Vader is an extraordinary commander, easily the best and most demanding I’ve ever served. He’s extremely driven and has high expectations of those he fights with, and, well…” He continued hesitantly, albeit quite sure that the boy knew of his father’s infamous reputation. “He’s not exactly known for his lenience. Not toward others, but not toward himself, either. He never expects more than he himself is willing to give. Coincidentally, that used to be everything. He never seemed to care a lot about whether he made it out alive or not.”

Luke hummed thoughtfully. He knew his father could surely be reckless and stubborn - although he strangely seemed to enjoy calling his son just those things - but to the point of trivializing his own existence? The mere thought sent a cool shiver down Luke’s spine and lodged the clammy feeling in his chest. Surely he wasn’t so desperate…

“In any case, he seems different now. More driven, but in a different way, focussed. As if he’s finally found a purpose. I mean, one besides the Emperor’s orders. A bigger, deeper one.”

Now it was Luke’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure he lives for the thought of coming home to berate me!”

Again Chatter grinned at the ease with which the boy was handling the situation.

“Laugh all you want, but I know what I’m talking about!”

“Sure sure!” Luke retorted, grinning himself.

Involuntarily, his gaze returned to the ebony form at the camp’s periphery, still very much engrossed in the contents of a datapad. Once more it struck him how little he actually knew about his father, how much of an advantage all of these troopers had on him, almost _20 years_ of an advantage despite the roots they shared, despite the bond that connected them. He felt almost jealous at the thought, angry at the injustice of it.

But there was only one way to resolve that situation. Well, one way that did not involve his father’s most likely non-forthcoming cooperation.

“Tell me something about him.” He requested, his eyes still lingering on his father’s static figure.

“Hm? Tell you what?”

“Anything. Just… anything”, his intense stare found Chatter’s eyes. “I wanna know about my father.”

The trooper found he couldn’t refuse. It might have been the Force, or maybe just the boy’s honest plea, but he soon found the words forming in his mind as of their own accord.

“Well, let’s see, the first time I actually met Lord Vader…”

 

* * *

 

 

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Vader found his gaze slipping from the contents of the datapad in his hands to the odd pair sitting some distance from him, caught in an animated discussion. They had been talking for quite a while now, erupting in laughter every now and then, obviously enjoying each other’s company. Again it struck the Dark Lord just how easily his son seemed to manage to find companionship even in the most adverse situations. The boy had never struck him as the type to actively seek company, to be fair; he tended to try and cover up his Outer Rim shyness, sometimes appearing almost clumsy in the process, and even more often much younger than his actual years. 

As confident as he could be, and often was when facing his father, he was even more self-conscious, a character trait that often spoke of childhood not quite as carefree as it should have been. It painted the image of a little boy who did not quite belong, and who was being made felt just that. Perhaps by his caretakers - although how fondly he spoke of his aunt and uncle led Vader to believe they had indeed treated him well, within their own limits. Perhaps by his peers. Stupid children without even the slightest idea of who the boy was and what legacy he carried within him. Who could not see power and promise if it stared them right in the face.

The mere idea enraged Darth Vader. His own son, destined for greatness, forced to grow up in the Outer Rim, on that force-forsaken planet of nothing but course, rough sand, ostracized for the very qualities that elevated him above all others. He, the father, should have been there. Should have had the chance the raise the boy the way he should have been, the way he deserved. He should have known what worried him, what made him feel smaller and more insignificant than he would ever be.

And _still_ he didn’t know. Knew so little of his own son’s past that all hopes of understanding him led to nothing more than mere speculation. If not for the force, and their growing bond through it, he doubted he would have any chance of ever gaining his trust.

The pull of the boy’s signature was immense, and still growing in strength by the day. Vader felt compelled to open himself to his son, to seek contact, perhaps - as preposterous as it sounded - even _walk over_ and join in their conversation, revel in that old feeling of companionship he hadn’t experienced in a lifetime.

And yet he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Was not yet ready for what such an action might entail. 

Which was all the better since he would only spoil their mood, ruin it. 

Again he glanced down at the datapad in an attempt at making sense of the topographical maps it displayed - again his gaze slipped, finding his son. His mind lost its focus, stopped computing and simply consumed.

It was a while before he noticed the small alert the ‘pad was issuing so insistently. 

_Almost sunset - almost time to depart._

He rose, slowly but steadily - owing to the concussion still troubling him -, to his imposing full height and, walking into the center of the camp, gestured for his soldiers to join him. In his peripheral vision, he noticed his son rising as well, ending his conversation with the officer, and almost regretted having to disturb them.

When everyone had gathered around the makeshift “table” - a strange assortment of crates and other rectangular objects - he set down the datapad and activated the small projection unit. A tiny cerulean sphere sprang to life, illuminating the pre-dawn scene with a cool glow strangely fitting the lingering smell of ozone.

“Currently,” Vader began explaining the situation, “we are approximately three klicks from the target.” A red dot began blinking on the map, closely shadowed by another white one.

“The generator is surrounded by the mountains on three sides and only accessible from the South. We will circle around from the East, in the protection of the Syre Ridge.”

“Why not go down in the East then, instead of circling all the way?” Luke asked, unfamiliar with the finer details of Zolan geography.

“It’s too steep there, almost a vertical wall,” one of the troopers retorted, “We wouldn’t be able to make it down in one piece. The Western part is a lot gentler.”

“Quite so”, Vader acknowledged with a nod. “Although we have no definitive intel, we can safely assume that a large number of troops as been stationed there. I will create a distraction to separate them into waves and make them easier to deal with. As soon as we find an opening, the first group will head for the bunker’s entrance and splice the lock. Once inside, it should be easy to rid ourselves of the remaining guards and disable the power source. That should structurally weaken the planetary shields enough to give the Executor the window it needs to provide support and send reinforcements.”

The troopers nodded in acknowledgement, ready to set off and put the plans into action. 

Vader, however, let his gaze wander of his men, lingering ever so slightly on his son’s determined features. 

“Protecting my son is your foremost priority,” and before the boy could even interject, he added, sternly, “And no heroics.”

 

* * *

 

 

Again and again her eyes skimmed the contents of the pad, trying to coax from its now familiar lines some hidden secrets and revelations she knew had to be hidden within them. Her instinct clearly told her so - and if she had learned anything over the course of her political career, it was to always trust her instincts. Still, try as she might, the feeling remained just that, unsubstantiated, unproven. 

She almost growled in frustration. There was only so much she could do cooped up as she was in these clammy, frigid corridors of the Rebel Base, going on eyewitness reports composed from - possibly faulty - memory rather than gaining firsthand knowledge. 

It was useless, she decided. She wasn’t getting any closer to the truth, any closer to _Luke_ like this. If she wanted to even have the chance of achieving any kind of resolution, she would have to step out of her comfort zone and throw in something more. Put it all on the line.

With a newfound determination, she all but leapt up and, tightly holding the datapad in her right hand, stalked out into the corridor. Her thick boots splashed through newly formed puddles of condensed water, the spatter quickly hardening into ice around the shaft. Absentmindedly she wondered if they would even resolve all these problems before the Empire finally caught up with them and they would have to vacate this base as well, just like all the others. Shaking her head to herself, she decided not to burden herself with those thoughts at the moment but to rather focus on her main goal. _Luke_.

After a few more turns, she finally reached her destination. And even before she stepped through the door, she knew she had found for whom she had been looking.

Muffled voices penetrated the thick material and rang into the corridor.

“23! This round’s mine! Pay up, fuzzball!”

The male voice was followed by a deep growl that seemed to express indignation, refusal.

“Threaten me all you want! That ‘I’m a Wookiee, I’ll tear your arm from its socket if you don’t let me win’ shit won’t work on me!”

Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to interrupt the conversation, Leia stepped closer to the door. It was unlocked and readily invited her into the private quarters. The smuggler and his Wookiee companion turned to look at their visitor curiously, the table between them littered in sabacc cards.

Nothing new there, Leia thought to herself.

“Your Highness, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Solo greeted her with his customary sneer, arm flying back in the gesture of a mock bow.

The Princess sighed.

“You make it so hard sometimes.”

“Well?”

Not quite sure how to broach the subject - or even where to start - she simply stepped forward and shoved the datapad into his hands. The smuggler’s gaze curiously jumped between her and the small piece of battered tech.

“What is this?”

“Read it”, she instructed and, seeing that did, added after a moment, “I got this from Mon Mothma. It’s not much, but it’s all the information she has.”

After another moment of scanning the text, Han looked up and frowned at her.

“You still believe that Luke’s Anakin Skywalker’s son.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t have to be, since he already knew the answer. 

Immediately, Leia found herself on the defensive, crossing her arms in front of her chest defiantly.

“Well, what’s your angle then? If Luke really _were_ Vader’s son, why would he be given the name ’ _Skywalker_ ’ - the name of one of the most popular Jedi at that time, mind you - and be hidden away on Tatooine, with Anakin’s relatives?”

Han mirrored her posture, only further enraging her, making her question her own intentions. 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Any child of Vader’s would be powerful, drawing him to the good side would make him a serious threat to the Empire. Suppose the Jedi, maybe even Kenobi, found out about Luke. ‘course they’d try to keep him safe, protect him from the Empire. Kenobi knew Skywalker, so he hid the boy with his family and stayed on Tatooine, to watch over him.”

Leia snorted.

“And leave him with one of the most popular names in the galaxy? On the planet of birth of Anakin Skywalker, Hero of the Republic? With his _family?”_ she spat mockingly. “What an _ingenious_ idea.”

Grinning, Han shrugged and returned the datapad to the Princess.

“Seems to have worked, though.”

Huffing indignantly, she threw him a cold look.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you helping me or not?”

The grin spread even further, grew lopsided.

“And here I almost thought you’d never ask!”

Turning toward his hairy companion, excitement spread across his features.

“What do you say, Chewie, we about ready to leave this hunk of ice?”

Leia didn’t need to be able to speak Shyriiwook to interpret the Wookiee’s excited growl. 

So far, so good.

 

* * *

 

 

The small company advanced slowly. The mountainous terrain was much more treacherous than any of them would have liked, making circling the tall structure of the generator a feat in itself. Not only did they need to watching their footing to keep from tumbling down the steep cliff to their left, but they also had to make sure to avoid dislodging loose stones for fear of causing a ruckus that would allow them to be noticed. Luke felt his muscles scream from the tension; his left leg had developed an annoying twitch he was having trouble keeping under control, and he didn’t even want to get started on how his broken ribs seemed to stab into his insides with every step. Still, this was not the time to complain. He knew that if he so much as voiced his thoughts, his father would find some way of excluding him from the action. 

And so they pushed on, the sun rising ever higher in the sky, warming the previously chilly air and driving sweat onto their foreheads and down their backs. It was another hour before they came to the area where the cliff began to turn gentler, allowing for a more or less safe descent onto the even ground.

Vader silently commanded their group to come to halt and gestured for them to take up their positions. Below them, about 3 dozen heavily armed soldiers patrolled the perimeter of the building, as of yet unaware of the small group of intruders.

But all that was about to change.

Studying the cliffside they had come from, Vader spied a promising spot, an overhang laden with larger boulders resting near the edge.

Again, he gestured to the others, letting them know what he was about to do so that they could react appropriately. 

Luke felt a wavering sensation through the force as his father concentrated on the outcrop, a silent testament to the sheer amount of strength and willpower the action required from the injured man. For a moment he was tempted to try and help, but eventually decided against it. His father definitely wouldn’t approve. There would be another time.

Unhurriedly, barely perceptible at first, the boulders began to move and gain momentum. One dislodged the other, that one the next and within mere seconds a veritable rockslide roared down the cliff and toward the generator. Startled soldiers looked up in alarm, some reflexively jumping out of the way of boulders that would never have reached them. Others, less scared, more curious, approached the area of the incident, scanning the rock above it. There was gesturing, shouting and debating, and eventually a number of soldiers split off from the large group to investigate. That left just about two dozen for the handful of them. 

Again, Vader gave a signal and finally, they descended. 

At first, it was all quiet and tension. Carefully approaching the enemy, raising blasters and lightsaber in a preemptive attack, the Imperials made use of their advantage as well as they could before all hell broke loose. Finally, only once it had become necessary for his own defense, Luke as well raised his blade, trying to stay above the din of the battle, to keep the confusion at bay. Vaguely, he was aware of his father’s eyes on him, controlling, inspecting the state of his son while effortlessly holding off the oncoming opponents. The fight dragged on; to his left, Chatter skillfully dodged a blaster bolt searing toward his chest, to his right and ahead of him the others fired ceaselessly, barely scratched by enemy fire themselves. This was skill, precision, Luke recognized easily. These men knew what they were doing, and they were doing it exceedingly well. 

Still, there were many. 

So many. 

Deflecting another shot, Luke felt his arms beginning to grow tired, his body still suffering from the strain of the previous days. The painkillers and bacta patches no longer sufficed to dampen the ache in his side.

Absentmindedly he noticed that two of the troopers had split off and were now working on splicing the lock to the generator’s entrance. 

They were getting closer.

Still, the waves of enemies did not abate. Whenever he believed they might have seen the last of them, even more came their way, shouting, shooting, ready to lay down their lives. The twitch in his leg returned, even more annoying than before.

Luke took a deep breath and opened himself to the force, hoping to coax it into providing him some assistance. What he then sensed, however, surprised him so strongly that he almost drew back and closed himself off again.

‘ _Don’t_ ’, he sensed his father’s familiar voice through the chaos that currently was the fabric of the force, ‘ _Let me help you._ ’ 

Even though he clearly felt the older man’s angry worry, he could not completely suppress the notion of defiance growing in his chest.

 _‘I’m fine!’_ he all but yelled into the upheaval of the force, _‘You should be more worried about yourself!’_

Slowly, the pair advanced toward each other, their individual battles leading the way. Within moments, father and son were fighting side by side, cerulean and crimson humming in unison. Their enemies were circling them, waiting for an opening to advance. 

Vader threw another quick glance down at his son, taking in his small form, noticing the way he favored his good side, how he shielded his injuries.

Again, the voice, although this time, he actually _heard_ it.

“Let me help you.”

Again, Luke sensed the bond being opened, flooded with the older man’s strength, and its chaos. This time, however, he accepted the connection. Effortlessly, he reintroduced order and sense into the maelstrom, shaped and bent it until it became a continuous stream, a bilateral flow connecting father and son on a level neither had ever experienced - or even thought possible - before. 

Suddenly, there was nothing but the force. The battle retreated into the background, a mere backdrop for far more important goings-on. Time slowed, having grown heavy and sluggish with the richness of the force, and finally, momentarily, two minds melded into one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I won't even try to justify how long it took me to update… I could try to explain it to you, tell you about the writer's block, the stress at work, the way that nothing I ever wrote seemed even remote good enough to post. But in all honesty, I'm just far too tired. I ended up writing almost all of the chapter over the past 12 hours, a kind of marathon I haven't attempted in a long time.  
> In any case, it's past 2AM, and I'm beyond tired, and definitely incapable of writing a coherent author's note. If there's anything you'd like to let me know, please leave a comment or a PM - I always try to answer them as quickly as possible - and rest assured that I will stick with this story and finish it. No matter how long it takes.
> 
> Caya, signing off.


	20. Dominion

For the fraction of a second, a searing pain laced with a profound sense of vertigo bled into the deepening bond between father and son. Yet before the latter could even begin to touch upon it and ponder its implications, it was submerged in the force as all sense of self fell away. Physicality melted into pure energy, thought, and the galaxy came alight with the force. A mind joined his, not quite his own and yet almost a duplicate. He accepted it readily, instinctively, and returned its gift. The force, in return, sang at the union, rejoiced the perfect pact of its precious sons. It pulsed in jubilation, saturating every fibre of the galaxy in order to provide assistance.

He was vaguely aware of possessing a material presence, yet it seemed insubstantial, inconsequential. Everything heeded his thought, his unspoken command. Almost absentmindedly assessing the situation, he willed his saber to fly from his hand and witnessed it follow the course he had intuited. It seared the thick air and enriched it with the stench of cauterized flesh and ozone. Smells he barely perceived. As the blade returned to what had to be his gloved hand, he saw another -his, that of another, he found he neither knew nor cared - come up and mark a protective crimson arch in front of him. A cloak (his?) billowed around him in a sable cloud as he spun around to send his blade off once again. It fulfilled its duty precisely, deadly and returned just as it had before. An ungloved hand (again, his?) pushed outwards, the resulting shockwave carving out a path in the thinning ranks of their attackers. Dirt and dust gusted upwards, brushing past his face, his armor, blinding his eyes - yet he did not need them to see. There was no need of vision when the force was one’s ally. 

All was calm, orderly, perfectly coordinated without any sense of urgency or even time itself. He willed the force to do his bidding while he himself fulfilled its wishes. In this perfect, natural symbiosis, a wider, more profound universe revealed itself to him - one that had always been so close, and yet just out of reach, like a word hanging on the tip of his tongue but never quite grasped, never correctly spoken. His mind had deepened, extended by the other, boundaries eradicated, walls torn down. Images welled up in the periphery of his perception, memories of days long past but hardly forgotten - crimson rivers of fire, their tongues licking at his flesh, cascades of silken curls dancing around delicately angled jawbones. Fleeting impressions of another life. His own? He was unsure. For a moment he considered seeking them out, reliving them, yet somehow he knew there would be pain, a reopening of wounds barely closed and he decided against it. Instead, he sent his crimson blade out once more, focused his intent on the whirling blur. The weapon soared and returned, again and again. The air hung heavy with dust.

From the far edges of the mind, a new sound intruded, rising in volume and urgency until it could no longer be ignored.

“Sir!”

And all at once, it was over. As the force withdrew and reinstated the material world, Luke roughly crashed to his knees, wheezing, panting heavily. His right side was afire, its flames stoked with every hungry breath he took. Gasping, he watched as his father’s sable figure rushed past him toward the generator’s entrance. Following the long strides with his eyes, his mind finally went back to work, trying to make sense of the situation. What in the worlds was happening? What _had_ happened? He had been one with the force, suddenly, so much deeper than ever before, and… his father had been with him, hadn’t he? He vaguely recalled the sensation of a mind joining his, melding with it. 

His reveries were brought to an immediate end when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, he recognized Chatter, his white armor plating streaked with new signs of battle, his face, unprotected, covered in grime. 

“You okay?” It was only then that he noticed the concerned look. 

For his guardian’s sake, Luke tried at a grin that he was sure was coming out much more like a grimace.

“I think so," he ventured, “At least no worse than before… whatever that was.”

Chatter gave a short laugh. “Be damned if I know, but it sure was impressive!”

A profound silence fell over the duo as Luke glanced around himself, taking in the multitude of dead bodies around them - bodies that had evidently fallen to a lightsaber, his, as likely as not. His stomach lurched at the carnage, and still he hardly remembered committing it.

“We should get going. Can you get up?”

Luke tore his eyes from the violent sight and, giving a quick nod, instead stared at his hands. The cool, smooth handle of his blade was still clutched in his left. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sir!” 

The sound of that simple word he had heard so often before returned his mind to him at once. It reinstated mental boundaries previously eradicated, brought back a sense of the material world with breathtaking suddenness. 

Vader’s mind reeled, almost overwhelmed by what had come to pass so unexpectedly. 

 _A battle meld, no doubt._ Something he had not experienced in decades, _not since…_

He banished the unbidden thoughts from his mind. Thoughts of his former mentor, of the war. Of camaraderie. Of a previous existence he had deemed past and forgotten, yet which seemed to have made a habit of returning to haunt him with increasing frequency. 

No, this was different. It had been far deeper, far more complete than anything he had known before. Not once had he come even close to the utter loss of a sense of self which had overcome him just moments ago. Not once had his mind become so completely merged with that of another.

Briefly his gaze strayed to the boy.

There was no doubt that their relationship as father and son, their bond, had a part to play in this. How else could someone as untrained as his son, no matter how immense his potential, accomplish such a feat?

A strange sensation overcame him, constricting his throat and forcing his iron lung to heave in effort. Quickly, he averted his gaze from the small form of the boy to calm his breathing.

In a meld so complete, so limitless… what had he experienced? What had the boy seen? There had certainly been nothing to stop him from discovering even the most well protected secrets of the Dark Lord’s mind, those most deeply buried. 

Had he truly become so weak as to be unable to protect even his own mind? Had the boy gained such sway over him?

Absentmindedly, Vader balled his hands into fists, grimed leather screeching in protest. He could not be weak, not now. Not when he was so close. Not when so much was at stake. Control. He needed to regain control.

“Sir, we’re in!”

Without venturing another glance at his son, Vader set into motion and made his way to the bunker, his path littered with countless fallen bodies. Cauterized stumps and wounds stood out clearly to him, but he decided to pay them no mind. To not ponder their implications.

As he arrived at the structure, the Dark Lord instinctively glanced around his troops in inspection. While most sported blaster burns and other minor injuries, none seemed to be incapacitated or otherwise seriously inconvenienced. 

Good. Very good.

Hurriedly, he made his way inside, joining his Commander and Captain at the controls. The latter was already busying himself with attempting to splice the console, apparently with little luck.

“Blast! They’ve got some first rate encryption here.”

“Why don’t we just use charges? That should take care of it.” Luke suggested, still panting, wheezing even - the boy must have hurried in after him.

Vader briefly regarded him, noticed how he leaned heavily on the trooper - the Lieutenant-Commander - supporting him. It was little surprise that the boy should be exhausted, yet the audible laboriousness of his breathing and the grayness spreading across his face caused a wave of concern in the father. His son clearly needed medical treatment, and Vader would make sure that he would soon receive it. It was only a matter of moments now.

“We will certainly _not_ blow up this building," he answered finally, “It would be a senseless act of destruction; we need yet to investigate the origin of such unreported technology on this planet.”

Had there been more blood left in the boy’s face, he might have blushed at the comment, but with things as they were, he simply emitted a brief “Oh, right”.

Vader returned his attention to the Captain.

“What are our chances of successfully bypassing the encryption within in the next few minutes?”

The trooper took only the briefest of moments to answer.

“Close to nil, I’m afraid. Without assistance from the flagship or at least an astromech, hacking through the different layers would take a couple of hours, minimum.”

The Dark Lord emitted a sound of annoyance. A couple of hours… time they did not have, he pondered with a sideways glance across the ashen face of his son. The boy might not be in any immediate danger - or so he hoped at least - but he needed medical treatment nevertheless. Every minute he had to spend in an active war zone in a condition like that was one too many. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Step away from the console, Captain," he commanded, his right hand slipping to the hilt of the weapon fastened to his belt. Within a few strides, he had reached the alcove containing an access point to the power core and opened the hatch. The small room instantly filled with a cerulean pulsation lending everything an almost calm air.

Just as unhurriedly, Vader thumbed the activation switch on his lightsaber’s handle to bring forth the blood-red blade with a deep hiss. From his periphery, he heard a faint, hesitant “But, father…” as he brought the weapon up and then rapidly pushed it down, forcing it past shielding, wiring and into the power core itself. Tendrils of energy licked upward and into the handle, the blade’s vibrations growing arrhythmic, chaotic until eventually, it extinguished, alongside the penetrated core. 

Around the small group, the bunker was plunged into a sudden darkness. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Any news on the planetary shields, Lieutenant?’ Piett enquired, stepping onto the bridge, his voice betraying his impatience.

“Nothing, Sir," came the swift reply.

“What about long-range communications?”

“Modulating against the shield frequencies is proving more difficult than anticipated.”

“Any timeframe?”

“Hard to say. A couple of hours at least.”

Piett swore under his breath. He was simply tired of hearing nothing but one negative report after the other for hours on end. If there were many more, if there was no viable progress soon… Shaking his head, he dispelled images of plunging the very _Executor_ itself through those blasted planetary shields. As commanding officer, he needed to remain calm and in control if there was to be any hope of salvaging the current situation. And his life, for that matter. 

The Admiral’s eyes wandered to one of the tactical displays outlining various bits of key information regarding the current operation. It had been almost 72 hours since Lord Vader’s shuttle had crash-landed, close to 24 since the rescue team had made contact. And in all that time, there had been no information except for the signal flares. A lot of time for something to happen, for something to go wrong. Of course, Piett was confident in Vader’s ability to handle any difficult situation thrown at them - his commander was more than simply capable - and yet he could not help a growing sense of unease. There were wounded among their party, and for all he knew Lord Vader’s son, still suffering from previously inflicted and barely healed injuries, might be one of them. And although it was a thought fearsome enough in itself, it was not only that he had to except and weather Lord Vader’s wrath if something were to happen to the boy. The Emperor himself had made quite clear that he was to retrieve him and return him to Imperial Center - preferably without any permanent damage. 

In a different situation, Piett might have taken a moment to stop and marvel in awe at how far he had come, how close to the very heart of the Empire he was. Yet presently, such thoughts elicited only a dry, cynical chuckle. Promotions be damned. Patrol duty on Tatooine did not sound all that bad right now.

“Sir, we’re detecting an anomaly in the planetary shields!”

The announcement immediately tore him from his thoughts and sent him rushing over to the Lieutenant-Commander who was hurriedly checking and rechecking the readouts of the _Executor’s_ scanners.

“What is it, Lieutenant-Commander?”

“A section of the shields is dimming," he answered without looking up from his screen, “The structural integrity is being compromised. We should be able to get through.”

Not wasting a moment, his mind instantly working in overdrive, Piett turned from the screen.

“Notify all troops on standby. Have them ready for deployment on my order.”

“Yessir!”

“Lieutenant, open a channel to Lord Vader’s party.”

“Channel open, Sir.”

Piett took a deep breath to steady his voice before finally initiating contact.

“ _Executor_ to shuttle crew, do you read me? I repeat: _Executor_ to shuttle crew, do you read me?”

It took a moment for the reply to come, but when it finally did, Piett felt almost relieved. But only almost.

“Shuttle crew here, reading you loud and clear, _Executor_.” 

An exhale.

“Give me a status report. What’s your situation?”

“Under control. We took down one of those shield generators, but we could use some reinforcements.” There was a rustling in the connection, muffled voices. “Passing the comm to Lord Vader.”

Piett swallowed involuntarily.

“Lord Vader-”

Yet he was cut short by the mechanical rasping crossing the connection.

“No time for formalities, Admiral. Deploy reinforcements immediately. Our intel was regrettably lacking; the Clawdite faction has weaponry that is far more sophisticated than we anticipated.”

“Understood, Mylord.”

“And send sufficient medical supplies. We have several injured among the original crew, my son among them. I want him to transported back to the flagship for treatment immediately. I will transmit our coordinates for a pickup.”

With a click, the connection closed, making the sudden quiet of the bridge even more obvious. A quiet that needed but a few words to be readily transformed into a hectic bustle of activity.

“You heard your commander. Get our troops ready - let’s give them a show, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, course for Tatooine… set.” Han announced, accentuating the final word with a flick of the autopilot’s activation switch. Leaning back in his chair, he was intent enjoying this first - and easiest - part of their journey before things would undoubtedly become more complicated - after all, Mos Eisley was still under strict Imperial scrutiny. Yet as so often, things did not go quite as planned.

“May I repeat, Captain Solo, that I have strong misgivings about returning to Tatooine. While I certainly share your eagerness to be reunited with Master Luke, I simply cannot forget the trouble we faced on our most recent visit.” The tinny voice of C-3PO droned on and on as the golden droid gesticulated wildly to underline his displeasure.

Han sighed.

“Princess, remind me again why we brought him?”

Leia briefly glanced up from the datapad she had been studying since takeoff - and even before.

“He insisted," she responded, earning a nod as well as verbal agreement from the protocol droid. 

“Of course I insisted. I am very worried for Master Luke. The Maker only knows what trouble that stubby little bucket of screws has gotten him into this time!” 

This strange appraisal of the situation earned him a loud guffaw from the Wookiee. 

“Gotta agree with you on that, buddy," Han smirked in response without enlightening the rest of the company on the true content of Chewbacca’s comment. “Right now, though, Tatooine’s our best bet. It’s the last place we know for sure the kid has been, and has some sort of connection to. Well, save for the core, that is," and after receiving an unreadable scowl from the Princess, added, “but let’s not revisit that avenue, shall we?”

With a sigh, Leia put down the datapad, giving up all attempts of pretence at being able to concentrate on its contents. 

“This would be so much easier if we knew more about Luke and his past, his family. Anything. But I didn’t even bother to ask him.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Princess," Han tried to stifle her attempts at self rebuke. “Was hardly any time for that anyway. I vaguely remember you being busy running a tiny operation called… What was it again? The ‘Rebellion’?!”

Leia shot him one of her customary looks, raising a single eyebrow at him.

“You’re not as funny as you think yourself to be, you know?”

“Hey, we all have our talents," Han shrugged, accompanied by Chewie’s amused throaty chuckle, “and I happen to know many women who consider me **very** funny.”

The Princess’ glare made yet another appearance before Leia decided to return to more serious and pressing matters.

“Hidden… talents aside… are we sure we’re not overlooking anything? Forgetting anything?”

“Can’t think of anything I haven’t told you,” Han replied. “All I know are the few scraps the kid dropped every now and then. Didn’t talk too much about his aunt and uncle; I guess the loss was still too fresh.” Han threw a glance at Leia, aware that she was in a similar situation, had not only lost her family but her whole home planet, had been forced to witness the entire event firsthand. But at least she’d had a place, somewhere she belonged and could find support - not that she would admit to needing it, of course. Even now she put on a strong face, so he continued, albeit hesitantly. “Luke would mostly go on about his father, how he was a great pilot, a noble Jedi Knight. He once told me that, when he was little, he kept imagining that his dad would show up some day and just take him away on his ship.” 

Leia hummed in thought. 

“Understandable. Even if a little innocent.”

Han gave a dry chuckle.

“Yeah, just like Luke. Of course that was way before Kenobi told him all about Vader. Wasn’t easy for him, learning that the father he’d put on a pedestal for so long was dead. I’m not sure he was ever really able to let go of that fantasy of his. But he’d swear he’d get revenge on Vader. Never seen him more serious than when he talked about that.”

The Princess’ face darkened, her own confrontations with the Dark Lord still fresh in mind.

“And now that monster is exploiting Luke’s ache for a family to delude him, to use him for his own purposes… We must put an end to that.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more, Princess,” Han nodded, his face equally grim, devoid of his customary smirk. “And we’ll take our first steps toward that on Tatooine. It’s not the biggest, most densely inhabited planet around. People know each other in those places. Even if the Imps have wiped the registries, somebody’s bound to know something.”

 

* * *

 

 

Within moments of cutting communication lines with the Executor, Darth Vader witnessed the skies above Zolan darken with the shapes of a multitude of Imperial ships, their engines laboring, emitting thunderous roars filling the entire atmosphere. The electric blue of thrusters, afterburners and compensators harshly cut through the haze of civil war and illuminated battleground after battleground. Bodies lay upon bodies, some half-emerging from the craters of bombs dropped with little precision but greater impact. War was never kind, yet had decided to show one of its uglier faces here. 

Well, there would not be war for much longer, Vader mused while observing the steady influx of ships, their angled bodies dispersing over the vicinity. Apparently, Piett had decided to make a show of force, a decision the Dark Lord approved of greatly. He would make sure to properly thank the Admiral later.

Whirling up the blood-stained dust around the small group surrounding Lord Vader, a dropship lowered itself to the ground and, before even touching down, expelled a wave of soldiers in gleaming armor yet untouched by fighting and struggle. One of the Stormtroopers hurried over to Darth Vader while others immediately went to check on the remaining shuttle crew, carefully eyeing injuries and dispensing bacta patches and painkillers.

The Commander addressing Vader gave a brisk salute.

“Sir, IDT Delta-621 at your service.”

“Very good,” Vader responded, “Your arrival was much anticipated. What’s the situation?”

“The Clawdites’ advance was slowed by local pockets of bad weather, but invasion of the capital eventually took place at 0300 local time. The fighting is not letting up, civilians are getting involved. Still the leaders refuse to meet for any form of negotiation.”

An annoyed rumble escaped Vader’s throat. Then it was as bad as he had expected. It seemed his work on this planet was not quite over yet. 

“Get me transport to the capital, Commander. Perhaps my presence can expedite matters.” But before the trooper could make to fulfil his order, a gloved hand rose to halt him in his tracks. Vader turned around to where his son was receiving medical treatment for his injuries and called over the trooper keeping close watch next to him - Chatter, the one with whom the boy had quickly formed a bond of natural, uncomplicated companionship.

“Lord Vader.”

“Lieutenant-Commander, I want you to accompany my son back to the flagship and see that he receives adequate medical care. I task you with his safety until I return from the capital. You are not to leave his side.”

Chatter glanced over at Luke for a moment but quickly nodded. 

“Of course, Sir. He’s in no state to remain planetside. I will take him right away.”

Watching the trooper return to his son’s side, Vader prepared himself for the argument he knew would come as soon as the young one learned that he would have to leave his father’s side. The boy was, after all, prone to disapproving of his decisions, regardless of how sensible and well-founded they were. Defiance was one of a Skywalker’s strongest traits, almost impossible to suppress - especially when, in the boy, it had been even further enriched by _her_ iron will. 

All that in mind, he was even more surprised to see his son listen to his companion and simply nod in reply. Nod. Agreement. No agitation, no strong words, no accusing glare at his father. Just a nod. This simple fact bothered the Dark Lord even more deeply than the obvious laboriousness with which his son proceeded to stand up and lean on Chatter. Something was clearly amiss when he acted so out of character, and somehow Vader suspected that it had little to do with his physical state. 

 _Don’t act so innocent, you_ know _what’s happening,_ the darkness whispered inside his mind, once again taunting him, returning in a moment when easy answers were not to be had, and more difficult ones not wanted. _He just doesn’t want to be near you._

Vader tried to silence the insidious voices, focussed on his son’s hobbling procession, but the dark was not so easily dispelled. 

_Have you forgotten that he’s been inside your mind? What do you think he witnessed there? I’m sure you have asked yourself that question._

Of course he had, the Dark Lord had to admit grudgingly, almost as soon as the mind meld had been over. He had feared the reality of what had happened to his son’s consciousness during their connection, still feared the possibility that he might have delved into memories to which he should never have become witness. 

 _How could he not?_ The darkness whispered, a breath more than a voice but still clearly understood. _A mind so innocent as his, so untainted. There is so much it does not yet comprehend. And what we cannot understand we fear, we loathe._

Unable to smother the whispers, Darth Vader simply stood quietly, watching the boy and his guardian walk past and step onto the boarding ramp of the dropship to eventually vanish inside its gray shell. Not a word was spoken between father and son, no glance exchanged. As the ship lifted itself from the ground and quickly accelerated out of view, his iron lung rasped, sinking deeper and deeper into a chest no longer able to bear the weight and accommodate the device. In its place it left nothing, a black hole tugging at the seams of the battered form, trying to finally unravel it fully, irreparably. 

It was not for a few moments that he was able to free himself from his dark musings and return his body to normal operation. Yet even as he joined the Commander and entered his own transport headed for the capital, the sinister voices stayed with him, harassed the tortured mind in the broken body. 

_And what we cannot understand_

_we fear_

_we loathe._

 

* * *

 

 

As the shuttle made contact with the durasteel floor upon setting down inside the _Executor’s_ main hangar, Luke emitted an involuntary groan. The rocking motion made his left hand fly to gently cover his injured ribs. Despite all the painkillers he had been given before boarding, the stinging wouldn’t stop, forcing his breath into a hectic rhythm of shallow in- and exhales. 

Maybe he was just getting so used to medication that he had started developing a resistance, Luke feared half-heartedly. If that was the case then he’d have to seriously rethink his approach to life - and that was something he wasn’t willing to do until he was much, _much_ older. 

A gentle touch on his shoulder brought him back from this thoughts, and he glanced up into the worried face of Chatter.

“You okay, Luke?” he asked, honestly concerned. 

The boy nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Chatter almost grinned at the flawed evaluation of his charge’s physical state.

“Sure you are. In any case, we should be getting off.”

Once more leaning heavily against the trooper, Luke heaved himself out of the chair and pulled himself into a slightly hunched standing position, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead from the exertion.

“Sure, you’re fine,” he heard Chatter mutter under his breath as the two of them slowly made their way to the back of the shuttle and down the lowered boarding ramp. 

At its foot they were greeted by Admiral Piett, a pair of Stormtroopers and a medical officer pushing a hover chair. They saluted almost simultaneously, making Luke feel surprisingly exposed and well out of place. 

“It is good to see you return without any further complications, Master Luke,” the Admiral commented genuinely, mustering the flicker of a relieved smile before noticing Luke’s strange posture and ashen color. With the wave of a hand, he ordered the medical officer to come forward. “I will have you brought to the medbay this instance. Please,” he added, motioning toward the chair.

Despite all his discomfort, Luke managed a disapproving scowl, looking back and forth between the hover chair, the Admiral and Chatter.

“Is that really necessary? I can just walk.”

While Chatter simply awarded him a disbelieving snort and shake of the head, Piett put his objection into words.

“I must insist, I’m afraid,” he stated, and in explanation, added, “Your father has given clear instructions to take no further risk of aggravating your injuries.”

With a sigh, Luke resigned himself to his fate. 

“Guess the old man wins this one,” he muttered as he carefully sank down into the cushions of the hover chair and, with about as much indifference as he could muster, bore the indignity of being carted off to the medbay. 

 

* * *

 

 

A dull thud echoed through the small makeshift interrogation room as Darth Vader’s gloved fist slammed onto the top of the metallic table.

“I am **not** satisfied with your answer,” his voice thundered, infinitely too loud for the small space, and the eardrums of the scowling Clawdite sitting in cuffs. “I demand to know why you attacked my son and took his form. Who gave the order?”

If the Clawdite was impressed or even fearing for his life, he was quite adept at not showing it. His face remained neutral, unmoved. 

“I already said I don’t know anything about that.”

Vader’s right hand curled into a fist.

“And I know you are lying,” he roared furiously as the other man’s hands flew to his collar to grasp at an unseen assailant. “You will answer me now, or never talk again.”

Finally realizing that his life was truly at stake as stars began to dance before his eyes from the lack of oxygen, the Clawdite emitted a raspy “Alright, alright.”

Almost in disgust at the man’s meekness, Vader eased his grip and saw the other slump in his chair.

“Speak,” he commanded, allowing no argument.

After a few gasps, the voice returned, albeit raspy. 

“The order came from off-planet. Our people were to observe the boy, make contact with him and eventually detain him. The priority was to keep him alive so he could be used to bargain with you.”

“That is obviously not how I remember it.”

“Things went wrong,” the Clawdite added hastily after Vader’s interjection. “There was a fight, plans had to be changed.”

“Please do elaborate,” Vader insisted, once more raising his right hand to let the detainee know what fate awaited him if he decided not to cooperate.

Apparently, though, the man possessed at least some sense of self preservation.

“When our men tried to detain him, the boy and his troopers became suspicious and opened fire. They were much more of a challenge than we anticipated, and only one of our men made it out alive. He called in to report and then went to meet up with you.”

The mere mention of that confrontation which had taken place only hours ago served to further incite the Dark Lord. Never would he forget his own helplessness against the monstrosity which had the audacity to wear his son’s face. Never would he fail to recall the bottomless fear spreading in his chest at the realization of how much sway the boy held over him. The boy who now likely rejoiced in their separation.

_And what we cannot understand, we fear, we loathe._

Vader shook off the thought, muted the echo in his mind.

“I am well aware of the outcome of the situation,” he commented instead, and once more tried to steer the discussion in a more productive, informative direction. “How did you get the information necessary for impersonating the boy?”

The Clawdite shrugged, the cuffs around his wrists scraping against the tabletop. 

“It came with the order.  A whole package. Pictures, vids, holos. Anything we needed.”

Vader would have growled had the vocabulator been able to translate such a sound.

“I hate to repeat myself: Who gave you the package? Who gave the order?”

“I swear, all I know is that it came from off-planet. No-one ever met the contractor; it was all anonymous.”

Inside his mask, Vader gritted his teeth. Off-planet, anonymous… It was all they harped about. This was getting him nowhere. 

“Please, I…”

With an impatient flick of the wrist, the Sith extinguished the man’s consciousness and watched in disgust as the form slumped into a boneless heap.

 _‘Anonymous’, ‘off-planet’, ‘I don’t know’…_ Vader was getting increasingly annoyed at the situation. No matter how many detainees he interrogated, the answers remained the same: hollow, senseless. Be it on the topic of the planetary shields and weaponry which should not exist or regarding the assault on his son, he was unable to learn anything beyond the fact that some off-world contractor was involved. Money seemed to have been no obstacle and had easily enticed the already excitable Clawdites into moving against their Zolander cousins. Money and war always went hand in hand. War was, after all, a most profitable business.

And still it made no sense to him. The basics of the conflict were easy enough to understand: a ‘defective’ race, suppressed for ages, finally saw its chance of revenge against their ‘superior’ oppressors, fighting to reclaim the position they believed to deserve. It was a plot which played itself out on many worlds each day. 

Yet the particulars of this variation of the story set it off from the rest. And while his men were now working with Zolander and Clawdite authorities to rectify the situation and reinstate some form of order, Vader himself had pursued answers to those questions. Questions which, if his intuition had not betrayed him, were of far greater importance than the mere struggle between two related species. 

Steadying himself against the table, he fought off a sudden onset of vertigo, undoubtedly a remnant of the concussion which still refused to leave him be. Immediately, his own injuries reminded him of those plaguing his son, and his thoughts traveled to the boy. He had not yet tried to make contact through the force, simply could not bring himself to do so while unsure of the boy’s feelings toward him. If he had truly spied something through their bond, invading his mind would be a most inadvisable route to take. 

And yet he could not simply ignore his son. Curiosity and, yes, even fear regarding his physical condition had been nagging at him ever since their separation. Feelings that demanded to be satisfied. And best to do so in person, Vader decided. 

His interrogators could take over now. He was sick and tired of hearing the same talk of an anonymous, off-planet contractor anyway, he mused as he walked past the Clawdite’s lifeless body. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be getting your wrist treated first?” Luke asked from where he was sitting on the bed, shooting his companion a worried look.

But Chatter easily dismissed his question with a wave from his healthy hand.

“Naw, it can wait until you’re properly settled in here. Plus, your father would kill me if I let out of my sight and something happened.”

Luke was about to give a reply along the lines that he would never let that happen when 2-1B returned, scanner in ‘hand’, ready to finally begin the examination. While running the device up and down the boy’s body, he addressed him in that strangely familiar voice.

“Sir, please reiterate the events which lead to your current physical condition.” 

“Well…,” Luke started, the act of focussing and remembering the events being much more of an effort than he would have liked, “First, there was the shuttle crash. I guess I hit something when we went down. And then some time later, we had to fight some Clawdites. One of them kicked me right in the ribs.”

2-1B barely looked up as he addressed Chatter.

“Was there any loss of consciousness?”

The trooper nodded.

“He was out cold for a while right after that.”

“I see,” the droid commented and turned back to his patient. “Would you please describe your symptoms?”

Luke hesitated. Listing all of his issues made him feel like he was complaining, and Uncle Owen had instilled in him such a strong sense of boys and men having to be strong that he had not been able to shake it since his childhood.

“Well, go on,” Chatter urged him.

“Let’s see… There’s the pain from the bruise, of course, but that could be worse. There’s also stinging from the ribs and breathing isn’t getting easier either. I’m out of breath pretty quickly.”

“Tightness of the chest?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, especially if I move too much.”

Intently studying the portable scanner, the droid ran the device over the right side of Luke’s ribcage once again. 

“What is it? Anything wrong?” the latter inquired. 

“I am afraid you are suffering from an advanced case of traumatic pneumothorax.” 2-1B stated calmly. 

“Which means…?”

“A collapsed lung due to some form of trauma,” Chatter provided helpfully, his face lined with worry. 

“Quite so,” the medical droid commented and launched into a more detailed explanation. “The kick you mentioned broke your previously injured ribs and shifted them, causing a fragment to puncture your right lung. This caused the air to escape from the lung and enter the space between the organ and the chest wall, at the same time preventing it from re-inflating.”

Still processing the information, Luke let out a thoughtful “Huh” as he glanced from his exposed chest to the scanner and back. “That doesn’t sound so good.”

From Chatter, a muttered “Understatement of the year” filled the small gap of silence before Luke continued. “So what do we do? Let me guess, full bacta immersion?” he finished with a scowl.

“Eventually, yes,” 2-1B supplied. “But first the air needs to be removed from your chest cavity so the lung can re-expand. In a case as advanced as this, employing a chest tube would be advisable.”

Not familiar with the finer details of medical procedures beyond stitching wounds and setting bones, Luke was at a loss. It definitely didn’t sound like something he’d appreciate though.

“So what’s gonna happen?”

“In a first step, I will perform surgery to put the chest tube in place. First, I will administer an anesthetic. Once it has taken effect, I will make a small incision between your ribs and through it insert the tube into the pleural space. The tube will then be attached to a small vacuum pump which will facilitate the removal of air, eventually allowing the re-expansion of the lung.”

“So… in and out in an hour?” Luke tried. The medbay was hardly one of his favorite places, and in the past weeks he had already spent much more time in here than he would have liked.

“I am afraid not, Sir. The process of removing the air and inflating the lung will take several days, during which the tube will need to remain in place. Constant medical observation is required throughout the course of the treatment to avoid infection and other complications. Once the lung has regained close to full functionality, we will begin the bacta immersion. Overall, I project a duration of five to seven days, assuming there will be no complications.”

Luke groaned. _Five to seven days! A whole week!_ Another week he’d have to spend stuck in medbay. Another week lost - he’d never get anywhere like this, not with his training, and certainly not with his father. Quite the opposite: he was sure Vader would be mad at him, just like he always was when Luke managed to get himself injured - whether it was his fault or not. And this time, he would most likely be even more furious, considering Luke had snuck onto the shuttle and gotten himself into the whole mess in the first place. And then there was also the whole mind meld business. He could practically see the gloved finger pointing at him already.

As if he were reading Luke’s thoughts, Chatter suddenly chimed in.

“We should notify Lord Vader.”

Luke’s head immediately shot up, earning him a ballet of stars in his vision. 

“No, not now. He’s too busy. I’m sure he has more important things on his mind right now.”

Chatter frowned.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty certain your father would want to know what’s happening.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, wouldn’t want to bother him. He’s needed down on the planet. Besides, there’s nothing he could do anyway.” Having made up his mind, Luke turned from the trooper to 2-1B. “Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we start, the sooner I can get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clutching the datapad in his left hand, Darth Vader strode through the corridors of the _Executor_. Bad news always brought company, he had learned. And that knowledge had been reaffirmed when, upon his return to the flagship, Admiral Piett had taken him aside to inform him of a new development. One that, granted, he had expected, but which could not have come at a more inopportune time.

Shoving the unpleasant thought aside, Vader decided to focus on more immediate matters, more important ones. It was time to finally check on his son.

Soon, he reached the medbay where, he had been informed, the boy was currently being treated for his injuries. Still wary of how he would react to his presence, Vader stalled for a moment before finally crossing the threshold and entering the medical facility. For a short time, he felt a sense of disorientation and confusion at the absence of both a medical droid and the trooper he had tasked with watching over the boy. Anger began to well up inside of him until he finally noticed the small form lying in a bed beyond a pane of transparisteel, and all of his breath was knocked out of him, all traces of rage at once eradicated. 

That was undoubtedly his son - there was no way he would ever mistake him for anyone else - but… it couldn’t be. 

The Dark Lord stood, unmoving, his eyes fixated on the figure in the bed. His body uncovered above the waist, the exposed torso was a topographic map of abuse with hardly an inch of skin betraying its original color. From the right side of the ribcage, a kind of catheter emerged and fed an unfamiliar device mounted near the head of the bed. The tube was joined by another, smaller one attached to the boy’s nose, providing him oxygen. 

Although the urge to turn around and flee, to forget what he had seen and ignore the truth, was mounting, Vader took a step closer to his son, still unable to take his eyes off him, no matter how much he longed to. 

 _It does look familiar, doesn’t it?_ The dark whispers chimed in once more, mocking, again drawing attention to details the Dark Lord would rather overlook. _He’s turning out to be quite like you. Your very image._

No. Vader balled his hands into fists, the servos in the artificial limbs protesting against the pressure. His son might be like him in many ways, might share many of his skills and traits, but in _that_ way, the boy would never be like him. Would never become like him. He would do everything in his power to spare his son such a fate. 

 _You speak as if you still have a choice,_ the whispers sneered. _Look closely… Can you not see it? He is like his father, and he will fall like his father._

“No.” Vader growled, hardly able to suppress his dread, to contain his rage.

“Sir?”

The voice caused the Sith Lord’s head to snap into its direction. Without him noticing, his son’s guardian had returned, his broken wrist covered in a fresh splint. But Vader barely noticed.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed venomously, gesturing toward his son’s unconscious form.

Chatter threw a quick glance at the boy before returning his attention to his superior officer. 

“Your son suffered a collapsed lung, Sir. He just underwent surgery to have a chest tube put in place to fix the problem.”

His lung…

_See? Just like his father._

“Why was I not informed?”

“Luke decided that he did not want to trouble you.” Chatter replied truthfully. 

The Dark Lord returned his attention to the unmoving form of his son. Trouble him? His son should know better than to think he would bother him. He _did_ know better. Another small detail which seemed only to confirm his earlier suspicions. The boy _had_ to have seen something. There could be no other explanation.

 _What we cannot understand, we fear. We loathe,_ the whispers echoed once more, their breathy murmurings taunting, almost gleeful. _And now for him to turn into that which he has come to loathe. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Such an innocent child, so easily ruined…_

“Luke should wake up soon. I’m sure he’d appreciate seeing his father when he does.” The trooper’s voice mingled with the hum of the dark side, unable to penetrate it, and was ultimately drowned.

_If only you had been stronger. You might just have protected him, saved him. But then again, you were never able to do that, were you? You never could save the ones you loved._

Without any further explanation, the Dark Lord turned on his heel and fled the medbay, hoping he might flee from the voices as well. Although he had come to know better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's past 4am now, I just can't. More later. Enjoy x_x


	21. Pariah

Closing his eyes in spite of the darkness, Darth Vader calmly exhaled into the super-oxygenated atmosphere of the hyperbaric chamber. Slowly, almost tentatively, he opened his mind to the force, bracing himself against the chaos his concussion had introduced into its fabric. While the strength of its effects was finally diminishing, they were still far from gone. Yet there was no reason for him to seek medical assistance - this was nothing he could not handle himself; he had - in fact - done so many times before.

Feeding his frustration and annoyance into the force, the dark side responded easily, eagerly. Its strength instantly penetrated his battered body, permeated every cell and fibre, both burned and healthy. It licked its way past the stumps of his legs, up his scarred spine, branched off into the damaged organs protected by an abused chest and continued along his neck into the base of his hairless skull. Scorched nerve-ends tingled strangely, sending impossible impulses. The darkness whirled through his veins, its low whispers coaxing the unthinkable from the exhausted body. They assuaged the headache, righted the vertigo, commanded the chaos back into order.

_Good._

_Very good._

Another deep breath. His chest rose and fell.

Rose and fell. Rose and fell.

The simple movement invaded his mind, visualized, and changed shape. Became small, labored, passive. Color bled into the image, a bloom of unhealthy shades in a sea of white. And suddenly, there were features; lips, a nose, eyes. And beyond the closed lids orbs of bright blue, his mind knew intuitively. Yet they remained closed, the body hosting them unmoving but for the artificially propelled heaving of its chest.

Artificial.

Mechanical.

_Just like his father._

Within split-seconds, Vader’s grasp of the dark side slipped, its power at once fleeing from his body, escaping the charcoal prison. A growled curse on his lips, he wearily - angrily even - opened his eyes to the darkness. Reconnecting with the force would be useless now, he knew, fruitless. Once thoughts of his son entered his cognition, there was no hope of banishing them until whatever had brought them about was resolved.

Unlikely, under the current circumstances.

In spite of the near complete darkness, his hand found the console controlling access to the security recordings of the flagship and hovered over it. Mere inches of enriched air separated glove from durasteel, and yet he could not bring himself to close the gap, no matter how near irresistible the pull of its possibilities. Although he was loathe to admit it, he craved the image of his son, yearned to assure himself of the boy’s safety and well-being, longed to persuade his conscience that, despite his injuries, his son had not suffered any lasting damage and was recuperating. That he would, soon, once again be the boy he had picked up on that force forsaken desert world not so long ago. The one who had come to accept him and call him father, despite everything the latter was… and was not.

Yet what hope of that was there now?

After all the boy could have seen, likely _had_ seen, what hope was there of acceptance? Of forgiveness? He wondered briefly whether any bond might be deep enough to absolve him of all he had done, whether his son would still even want to call him ‘father’, but quickly pushed the thought away.

Even if the boy were to come to resent him, it would be of little consequence, he decided. His son was alive, albeit injured, and that was, ultimately, all that mattered. As long as _he_ lived, so did the father. Everything was not yet lost.

His resolve renewed, Vader inched his hand closer to the controls, closing the gap surely, steadily.

_Do you really still deceive yourself with false promises of hope?_

He faltered once more.

_After all these years? After all you’ve done, all you’ve become?_

And came to a halt.

_Go on,_ the whispers urged, _take another look. See what you have made of your son._

‘It’s an injury, nothing more. He will recover.’

_Physically, perhaps, yes. But mentally? How much more do you think the boy can take?_

‘He is strong; he will not give in.’

_Who says he will not want to?_

‘He is my son.’

_Do you think he wants to be?_

‘…Stop.’

_Don’t you think he’s wished for another father? A family?_

‘Stop.’

_You know how he longs for his mother. Any child would._

‘I said stop.’

_What if he were to find out that_ you _killed her?_

_What if he already has?_

“ENOUGH!”

As the thunderous roar tore free from deep within the broken body, the dark side cackled in ecstasy, its newfound strength rattling the capsule, causing the metal to groan under the strain.

_Enough? Is it, now?_

_Do you believe that is still_ your _decision to make?_

 

* * *

 

For the first time in many days, Luke Skywalker did not feel the slightest twinge of pain. A sensation as nostalgic as it was pleasant. He briefly considered ignoring his conscious mind and enjoying the feeling a little while longer. In the end, however, curiosity won the short battle and Luke slowly pried his eyes open. The familiar sight of clinical Imperial minimalism came as no surprise this time, and was once more accompanied by the steady beeping, whirring and flashing of a multitude of diagnostic instruments. Much more than about his surroundings, though, Luke was curious about the results of the operation - and, of course, how much they would limit him in the endless days of treatment and recuperation to come. Throwing a quick glance down his chest - bare save for what must have been dozens of bacta patches of various sizes - his eyes came to rest on the right side of his torso. There, a few inches below his armpit, a thin, transparent tube exited his ribcage through a small cut in the soft tissue between two lengths of bone. He lazily traced the catheter from the wound, down the mattress of the bed and towards the headboard where he assumed the vacuum pump would be. Turning his head further to his right, however, he eventually began to feel a small resistance, a tugging sensation around his nose and jaw. Slightly puzzled, Luke raised his left hand to his face to investigate.

Yet another tube, he noticed, this one much smaller in diameter and hooked into his nose.

_Oxygen, most likely,_ Luke concluded with a sigh, barely able to resist the urge of tugging it out. One more thing to chain him to this bed. Then again, it probably could have been worse.

Actually, Luke corrected himself, the worst was most likely _still to come_. Once his father got his hands on him…

The thought of his parent instantly jolted his brain into action and alerted him to something amiss about the current situation: the lack of that measured raspy breath now so familiar it barely even registered in his mind anymore. Perhaps it was due to just that familiarity that he had not noticed its absence before. Still his heart sank a little at the realization. Of course he had expected his father to be mad at him, but he hadn’t thought he would hold a grudge so deeply and for so long that it would even keep him from checking in on his own son after a medical procedure. Not when he always put such an emphasis on the importance of his well-being, showed such distaste for any injuries that befell him.

Perhaps… had his father had come to see him before he’d woken up? Perhaps he wasn’t even mad at him anymore but rather too busy with everything going on down on Zolan?

Hoping to find answers to at least some of his questions, Luke glanced around the sterile room for any kind of familiar face, be it humanoid or mechanical. He was disappointed, however. Beyond his bed, a large transparisteel wall isolated him from the rest of that section of the medbay, and neither the small personal space nor the one beyond it showed any signs of activity other than that displayed on the various viewscreens and consoles.

No signs of his father.

Or Chatter.

Or R2.

Or even 2-1B, for that matter.

Luke emitted a drawn out sigh. Not even in medbay for more than a few hours, and already he was getting bored. He was of half a mind to remove the oxygen tube from his nose and see if he couldn’t possibly move at least a little ways from the bed despite the short leash of the chest tube and the IV-drip feeding into his left hand. But he knew that wouldn’t go over too well with any of the aforementioned, definitely restoring his father’s wrath in the unlikely event it might already have dissipated.

Resting his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes, he attempted to call out to the force. Its fabric, however, remained dull and unresponsive, flickering only ever so slightly in passive reaction rather than active acknowledgement. Likely an after effect of anesthesia, Luke realized with no small amount of frustration. With even that avenue of employment taken from him, he was about to resign himself to at least trying to catch some sleep, when a soft whirring came to his ears. One he knew all too well.

Turning his head toward the entrance to his ‘suite’ - a section of the transparisteel wall replaced by a force field - he spied the welcome sight of 2-1B making his way toward him.

“Good Morning, Sir,” he greeted his patient, datapad in hand, eyes swiveling back and forth between Luke and the monitors, “I am glad to see you awake so soon.”

Luke nodded briefly, a half smile playing around his lips.

“How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

Considering the questions for a short moment, Luke eventually shrugged.

“No, I’m fine, I guess. Much better than before, that’s for sure.”

“That was the intended outcome of the treatment so far,” 2-1B acknowledged earnestly, and added, “The operation went as projected. As you can see, the chest tube was put in place and is working as expected. I also managed to reset the broken ribs which will be stabilized during the ensuing bacta immersion.”

Luke couldn’t hide a scowl and shudder at the mention of the syrupy substance, but decided to count himself fortunate that at least everything else seemed to be going relatively well.

2-1B, though, seemed to be mistaking the gesture for something quite different.

“Do you feel cold, Sir? I could raise the room temperature, or alternatively provide extra covers.”

After a moment of confusion, Luke realized the misunderstanding and gave a small chuckle.

“No no, I’m fine, really.” And more to himself than anyone else, he added after a moment, muttering, “Although I could do with some company…”

The droid seemed to catch the words, however, and, cocking its head slightly, was about to answer when, realizing what he had said, Luke blushed and quickly amended: “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just…”

“No offense taken, Sir. Notwithstanding, I cannot allow your visitors in just yet. You will need to remain in isolation for a few more hours to avoid infection and ensure the pump and tube are performing well.”

Of course, to his dismay, Luke’s ears picked up the words ‘isolation’ and ‘few more hours’, but at the same time they also registered ‘your visitors’ – and the curiosity that expression raised easily outweighed the previous negativity.

“You’re saying someone’s here to see me?”

“Yes,” the droid answered. “The Lieutenant-Commander who brought you in, as well as a quite excited astromech unit. The latter is very persistent and, when I ordered him to remain outside, became very… vulgar.”

Luke couldn’t help but laugh.

“That sounds like R2, alright.”

So much had happened in the past few days since he had left the flagship that it felt like he hadn’t seen his rotund companion in lifetimes. And he only just then noticed _how much_ he had missed him.

All the same there was something nagging at him. Bugging him.

Still no word of his father.

 

* * *

 

“So it is safe to assume there will be no lasting effects from his injuries.” Palpatine summarized Piett’s detailed report on the recent events surrounding his Second-in-Command and his son. Folding his hands in his lap, he watched the bluish holo nod in affirmation.

“Yes, Mylord. The boy is well on the way to complete convalescence.”

“Very good. He has been informed of the Declaration, then?”

The Admiral paused for the shortest moment, possibly considering the wording of his answer.

“Not to my knowledge, Mylord.” He opted finally. “The boy is still in isolation and not allowed to receive visitors. As for Lord Vader, he is personally overseeing matters planetside.”

Palpatine perked up at that small piece of information and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“So Lord Vader has not spoken to his son yet?”

“No, Mylord, not to my knowledge.”

_Interesting…_

“How very unusual. I had assumed Lord Vader would be more concerned about the boy.”

_A falling out between father and son, then? A conflict born from the heat of battle?_

The small figure of the Admiral straightened as if to use its posture as support in his defense of his superior.

“Lord Vader is quite invested in discovering the identity of the one who contracted the Clawdites to attack him and Master Luke. Perhaps someone else should inform the boy? I believe he has grown attached to a Lieutenant-Commander from the 501st.”

Palpatine raised his hand in objection.

“That will not be necessary. I am sure Lord Vader wants to resolve the matter himself and will do so once the opportunity arises.”

Again the holo nodded.

“Of course, Mylord.”

“For now, I want you to continue observing the situation and inform me about any new developments.” And after another brief nod of acknowledgement, Palpatine added: “You have proven reliable so far, Admiral. Do not make me revoke that evaluation.”

Before Piett could even attempt to answer, he cut the transmission, returning the gloom of twilight into his unlit office. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes lost focus, looking only inwards now, disregarding the material world.

The fabric of the Dark Side was tumultuous, and although it continued to heed his command almost instantaneously, it would not allow him to gain full insight. The future was still in motion, undecided, as it had been ever since the boy had been introduced into its workings.

A challenge, of course, but a welcome one, after decades of effortless orchestration. Here was a true test to his strengths, and apparently one even more trying and unpredictable than his father had been.

_Well, the greater the challenge, the greater the gain._

 

* * *

 

 “Please, I must insist that you exercise appropriate caution!” The measured voice of 2-1B contradicted the urgency of the message and was followed, almost immediately, by a squeal, clatter and another voice, this one decidedly human, and as amused as it was surprised.

“Woah, slow down there, little guy!”

Luke’s head jolted up as far as the oxygen tube would allow and a large grin began to spread across his face.

“R2!” He exclaimed excitedly as the cylindrical astromech bolted into the medical suite and just barely came to a halt before the bed. “Aw, I missed you too, buddy! I’d give you a hug if I could.” Instead, he reached down with his right hand and gently patted the small silver and blue dome. Finally assured of his master’s wellbeing, R2 - though obviously enjoying the attention he was being given - began emitting a cascade of hectic, and quite likely accusatory, beeps and whistles.

“He’s really chewing you out, huh?”

Looking up in surprise, Luke almost failed to recognize the familiar figure in front of him due to the unusual clothing it wore.

“Chatter!”

The trooper who had used R2’s stormy entrance to slip in quietly was not only out of his signature white plastoid armor but also not wearing any standard issue uniform Luke could identify. Dark blue pants, a plain gray shirt  with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and worn combat boots; he’d call it casual wear, if such a thing even existed aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer.

“What? You seem surprised.” The older man commented on the younger one’s expression.

“Well, I barely recognized you!” Luke retorted, gesturing at the outfit, at the same time noticing the splinted wrist. “How’s your hand?”

A smirk on his lips, Chatter shook his head in disbelief.

“Always worrying about others first, huh? I’m good. Good _as new_ in a couple of days. How ‘bout you? Tried to check yourself out yet?”

Luke gave a playful scowl in response, absent-mindedly wondering just how much Chatter and the other troopers knew about his… exploits, but deciding it might be better not to dwell on the thought. If only for the sake of his own dignity. 

“I feel fine,” he admitted, “just wish I had a bit more room to move around. At least I can finally have company.” He added, conciliatory.

“Glad to be of service.” Chatter gave a mock bow, his face a mask of seriousness.

Luke rolled his eyes at the performance but soon turned serious again.

“No really, I’m glad you’re here - yes, you too, of course, R2,” he added, laughing, in response to a particularly offended sounding string of hoots, “I mean, you don’t have to look after me anymore now that we’re back on the ship. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

Chatter responded with a strange look Luke found hard to place.

“Well, and I came here.”

Yes, here he was. That trooper whom he’d met only days before. Who had absolutely no obligation to come to see him now that his duties were fulfilled. Who probably had other things to worry about than his commanding officer’s unlucky offspring.

And yet here he was.

Apparently, it wasn’t difficult for Chatter to interpret the silence, and he gave a short sigh before speaking.

“I’m sure your father has good reasons for not being here right now, Luke.”

“Yeah, he probably does…”

“He _did_ come by earlier, when you were still out.”

Luke perked up at this.

“He did?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t in the best of moods though. Just stormed out on me after he saw you.”

Now it was Luke’s turn to sigh. _So his father_ was _mad at him._

“He always gets like that when something happens to me. Always mad.”

Chatter regarded him curiously, a look that was lost on the boy.

“Give him time, Luke. He’ll come around. This can’t be easy for him either.”

Luke hummed in response.

“I’m not sure it’s that simple… but I’ll wait.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

His hurried steps slowed as he neared the intersection and eventually came to a complete stop, his indecision commanding his actions. Or rather lack thereof.

A right would, within a few minutes, take him to the main medbay where, as he had been informed, his son was awake and out of isolation, ready to receive his first visitors. Under other circumstances, Vader would not have wasted a single moment in hesitation, yet it was just that instinct which caused him to halt, to falter.

The father in him, long buried, kept caged and hidden from those around him - even himself at times-, ached to turn right and finally lay his eyes on his son. The father needed nothing more than to ascertain himself of his boy’s safety. But the father was also anxious, scared. He feared that his connection to his son had been irreparably damaged, and looking into those pale blue eyes filled with hatred and accusation would make what had only been speculation and worry immediate reality. It might put an end to everything.

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, however, should not have been compromised by such contemplations. He should have put the fulfillment of his goals above everything else, regardless of their effects on any persons involved. He should have been indifferent to the possibility of the boy’s hatred; to the Sith Lord, he was a means to an end, nothing more. He should not have longed to see the boy, might only have done so to confirm that his plans would not been impeded.

For nearly two decades, he had had no attachments to speak of, nothing to fuel him except rage and regret. He’d had nothing to lose, and as such nothing to hold him back, to restrain him. And yet Darth Vader was no longer fortunate enough to be able to claim such detachedness.

And it was all for the boy.

His son.

He had changed everything.

And it was in his hands to destroy it all.

Almost hesitantly, Vader opened himself to the force, concealing himself in its blinding fabric. All too easily he spied his son’s signature standing out against all else, impossible to ignore. It was as radiant and strong as ever, inviting and gentle.

Forgiving.

Loving.

Vader dwelt in its presence for a moment, unnoticed.

Wistfully, he savored the innocent laugh erupting from it.

_Enjoy it while you still can_ , the insidious whispers suggested, echoing from the dark. _Once he notices you, sees you, it will all be over. Everything._

Vader’s hands balled into fists as he willed the voices to stop, tried to banish them from his mind. But the dark side was strong, its murmurs persistent. Having secured their foothold over the course of nearly twenty years, they were not so easily banished now.

_Then again, why wait? Go. See him. No use drawing out the inevitable. End it, now._

A low rumble escaping from his throat, Darth Vader set into motion with a sure step.

Straight ahead.

 

* * *

 

Leia’s fingers stalled on the computer’s controls. Her eyes scanned the lines appearing on the screen again and again, jumping from the end right back to the beginning in hopes that their content had changed in the split-second she hadn’t looked. It never did, of course.

Emitting a sound somewhere between a sigh and a dry chuckle, she shook her head in disbelief. This was ridiculous. Preposterous!

“Han, you need to see this!” she called in the direction of the cockpit.

Her summons was soon followed by an easy “Sure thing, Princess” and the clatter of boots on durasteel. Within seconds, Solo rounded the corner and came to halt with his hand braced against the wall. He studied her face for the briefest of moments and scowled.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself.” She retorted, gesturing at the screen in front of her.

The smuggler sauntered over to the Princess and, leaning on the backrest of her chair, peered ahead and scanned the screen.

“ _The Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic…_ ” he began reading aloud, then threw a quizzical glance at Leia. She motioned for him to continue, then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “ _The Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic hereby declares Lieutenant Luke Skywalker a traitor to its cause for defection to the Galactic Empire. He is henceforth stripped of rank and title, as well as all duties and rights resulting from the same. His punishment is to be decided upon his apprehension_.”

Just as Leia had before, Han returned to the beginning of the declaration, taking in its words once more, silently this time.

After a quiet moment, he turned from the screen and ran a hand across his face.

“Well, I knew this was coming, but seeing it is a whole different story…”

Leia found it hard to contain her exasperation. Her head ached, her throat constricted in pent up frustration.

“What were they thinking? _’Defection to the Galactic Empire’?”_ Her voice rose with each word, her anger mounting. _“‘Punishment to be decided upon apprehension?’_ They’ve lost their minds! All of them!”

Small hands balled into fists; it was all she could do to keep from smashing them down on the console - and, considering the state of the _Falcon_ , probably punching a hole right through the outer hull.

“Calm down, Princess.” Han tried and leaned back against the wall casually. “You know, at least they won’t be going after him. And it’s not like they’d stand a chance against Vader personally.”

Leia snorted.

“You really know how to cheer somebody up.”

The smuggler sighed and, crossing his arms, looked at her earnestly.

“Look, we knew this was coming – it’s why we’re here. We couldn’t prevent it, but we can still set it right. We’ll get the kid back.”

The Princess huffed indignantly. Sure, she could see his point; it made sense, as much as she hated to admit it. But this was not about logic. It was about the betraying of trusts.

Hers.

Luke’s.

This wasn’t fair to any of them.

“I just still can’t believe they’d think Luke… After all he’s done for them, for us!” She was at a loss of words. No expression was strong enough, none quite right to describe what was going on inside of her. An exasperated groan tore free from her throat instead.

Han smirked at her inability to express herself, almost amused by the display of raw emotion.

“Go ahead, Princess, blow off some steam if you have to; just don’t destroy my ship.”

Leia threw him a warning look, all the while aware that it wasn’t the smuggler she was truly angry with.

“You wouldn’t have a punching bag, by any chance?”

 

* * *

 

For about the hundredth time that evening, Luke sighed in frustration. Every square inch of his skin was itchy, and only the tiniest part of it due to his injuries and operation. Although the lights in medbay had been dimmed in accordance with the time of day to allow the patients to settle down and prepare themselves for the night, the _Executor_ was still bustling with activity. Luke could feel it in every single cell of his body. The fabric of the force was ripe with energy, seemed on the verge of overflowing, even. Thousands of minds busied themselves with even more thoughts, together ran through a spectrum of emotions they, individually, would never be able to experience.

Many of them, though, Luke noticed, were directed toward him. There was a palpable tension, which, even though created by beings blind and deaf to the force, penetrated and permeated its fabric, soaking it in anxiety and nervousness. Which did absolutely nothing to relieve his itch.

Of course he had tried asking Chatter, 2-1B and even R2 about what was going on onboard, but neither of them would answer him. Whether it was because they didn’t want to or couldn’t, he wasn’t able to tell. Reading droids was near impossible, and Chatter was pretty good at shielding himself - likely a side effect of working under his father for so long.

Tapping into random minds hadn’t been very effective either – the painkillers kept disrupting his concentration.

That left him with only one avenue left to pursue. It might not prove to be the most pleasant one, but, then again, how long could the man stay mad at him?

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to aid his concentration and narrow his focus, Luke once more sought out the force and felt it respond eagerly. In this manner, establishing the contact he wanted was an easy task.

‘ _Father_?’

He called out into the force and immediately perceived a reaction. The older man’s signature flared momentarily, almost warily.

He called out again, waiting for the opening of the bond from the other side, yet felt the hesitation.

Luke expelled a sigh, allowing it to spill into the bond and reach his father.

_‘Alright, I know you’re mad at me… I’m sorry.’_

A wave of surprise and confusion crashed over him and finally, he _heard_ the voice he had been trying to conjure, although the answer was not quite what he had expected.

_‘What?’_

He really was going to make him spell it out, wasn’t he? Another sigh.

_‘I know you’re mad at me because I got myself in trouble again… and because I got injured. Look, I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to…’_

The other voice cut him off. And with it came such a conflicting amalgam of emotions of overwhelming strength that Luke couldn’t even hope to try and identify all of them. There were tension and nervousness, mostly, but also something positive. Hope? Relief? He really couldn’t be sure.

_‘I am not mad at…’_ , the voice stopped and eventually corrected itself. ‘ _Well, perhaps I am.’_

_‘That’s why you haven’t come by to see me yet, isn’t it? As some kind of punishment?’_

Their bond was silent for a moment, entirely still, while his father contemplated his answer.

‘ _I have been busy,’_ he opted _, ‘Matters on Zolan are more complicated than we anticipated.’_

In other words, Luke thought, yes, it was punishment. He was almost disappointed that his father seemed to feel the need to lie to him. However, he decided not to dwell on it; other things were more important now.

‘ _Yeah, I can feel a lot of tension on board.’_ He began innocently enough. ‘ _Everybody seems nervous. And… it seems connected to me, somehow. Do you have any idea what’s going on?’_

The ensuing hesitation was answer enough.

‘ _I tried asking everybody, but they wouldn’t answer. You know what it is, don’t you?’_

More hesitation. Wariness swept through their bond, only serving to convince Luke that he was on the right track, that there _was_ something important going on.

‘ _Now is not the time.’_

Luke groaned in frustration.

‘ _Now’s as good a time as any. Please, father…’_

He could almost hear the sigh of defeat. His father began slowly, as if already regretting his words.

‘ _Do you remember what happened before we left for Zolan? What we talked about before…’_

_‘Before our fight?… You mean that news report…?’_

_‘Yes.’_ He paused, quite likely pondering how to best break the news. ‘ _While we were still on the planet, a reaction to that footage was made public. By the Rebel Alliance.’_

Luke’s heart sank at the last words. He knew precisely what had happened; he’d expected it, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier.

_No longer Luke Skywalker, former farmboy turned Rebel pilot, but Luke Skywalker, son of Darth Vader._

_No longer Luke Skywalker, Red Five, hero of the Battle of Yavin, but Luke Skywalker, deserter._

‘ _They declared me a traitor._ ’ He stated simply.

Traitor.

‘ _Yes.’_

Luke acknowledged the confirmation with a mental nod, yet still couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. He was also dimly aware that there was more his father wasn’t telling him, that there were details he probably wouldn’t like. But for once, he agreed that now wasn’t the right time.

_‘It… It was bound to happen…’_   He tried putting up a strong front, a brave face, knowing he was failing miserably. _‘What do we do?’_

For once, his father reacted almost instantly.

_‘You need not concern yourself with that. An official statement is being prepared and will be made public soon.’_

_‘So it’ll be official then. Everybody will know who I am… that I’m your son.’_

Again Luke felt wariness entering the bond from his father’s side

‘ _Yes. Assumptions will be confirmed. There will be many dangers ahead. We will need to be cautious.’_

The official declaration would be a significant event, Luke knew, but for him, it was just one more step on the path he had chosen. There was no turning back anymore. There was no longer even anywhere to return to. All ties had been severed, from both sides. It wouldn’t change his mind, though. This was what he had to do. Where he had to be. With his father. With _Anakin Skywalker_.

This birthed a thought in his mind.

_‘I won’t have to change my name, will I? I_ am _a Skywalker…’_

He felt another strange surge from his father - if hard pressed, he might have called it nostalgia, wistfulness.

_‘I suppose we could work something out.’_

There was more silence, and for a moment, Luke almost believed that his father had severed the connection and once more withdrawn into himself. Yet a flicker of curiosity evidenced the older man’s presence.

_‘Tomorrow, they’re gonna try and remove the chest tube. See if my lung stays expanded by itself. If it all works out, it’s two to three days of bacta immersion after that.’_

Luke wasn’t entirely sure why he was telling his father this. After all, he quite likely received regular reports from medbay on the progress of the treatment and thus was well aware of the state of his son’s health and the schedule of his therapy at all times. Perhaps it was out of the urge to finally see him. Sure, communicating through the force was nothing to scoff at, but actually _seeing_ him, being in his presence, having him close by… He couldn’t really put it into words.

_‘I see.’_

The unspoken question, “ _Will you be there?”_ hung in their bond, silent, yet at the same time deafening.

_‘I will… stop by… if my duties allow.’_

With everything else that was going on, that small admission, however hesitant it may be, was more than welcome.

_‘That’d be great.’_

_‘Sleep, then. Save your strength. There will be time to talk later.’_

Before Luke could respond, he felt his father withdraw from their bond, closing the channel of communication and leaving  him silence.

Luke sighed. There was so much more he would have liked to ask, so much more he needed to talk about, but apparently it would have to wait for another time.

On the bright side, at least the itch was a little better now.

 

* * *

 

With the flip of a switch, the cerulean tunnel drew into endless white streaks which eventually shrank into individual pinpricks of light gathering around a large yellow orb in their midst. The orange sphere flickered hazily against the velvety emptiness of space, a testament to the harsh, hostile conditions within its atmosphere. Crowned by a halo of vermillion dust, it sat silently, patiently, like the monarch of a long forgotten kingdom, its former glory now nothing more than a memory suffocated by heat, burned away by merciless twin suns.

“Ugh, I never liked this place.” Han scowled. “Too much dust, too much heat… Too many Imperials, these days.”

Next to him, Chewbacca growled approvingly.

“Good thing we’re not here on vacation then.” Leia commented mockingly from her seat behind Solo, and immediately earned herself a smirk in reply.

“Just say the word…”

The Princess rolled her eyes to the soundtrack of the Wookiee’s guffaw.

“You know, you could stand to be a little more serious sometimes.”

Han shrugged.

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Things will get more than serious enough once we’re planetside. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on Tatooine, but it’s not exactly a nice place.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been to many places that weren’t _nice_.” She emphasized the last word in annoyance.

The smuggler shot her a strange look.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t doubt that.” And after a short silence, he added: “So… you marked the coordinates on the map?”

“Of course,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Both the Lars homestead and the nearby settlements. Considering what Luke said happened there, we might not find much, but it’s as good a place to start as any.”

“True.” Han agreed, following her gaze past the canopy of the cockpit and to the dustball hanging in space before them. “But don’t worry, Princess, we’ll find _something.”_

 

* * *

 

 “I will now deactivate the vacuum pump. Please let me know if you experience any discomfort or otherwise unusual sensations.”

Luke only peripherally processed the droid’s instructions and nodded in affirmation. His eyes again wandered over to the entrance, hovering for a moment on the unmoving doors. He’d said he would try to be here. His father couldn’t still be _that_ mad, could he? At least that wasn’t the impression Luke had gotten during their short conversation the night before.

A beeping tore him from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. The pump had ceased its rhythmic moving, its measured clicking a constant companion during the past few days. 2-1B studied the monitors before addressing his patient.

“Now please take a few deep breaths.”

Luke complied, sucking in the air greedily, albeit with a hint of hesitation, always expecting the familiar stinging sensation to return, forcing his breathing to become shallow and labored once more.

“Are you experiencing any pain or trouble breathing?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Luke answer truthfully.

“Very well. The treatment seems to have been effective so far. The lung is still fully expanded, oxygen levels are well within normal limits. I believe we can now remove the tube and move on to the next step in your treatment.”

Again Luke threw a glance toward the entrance. Still no sign of his father, he realized with a sigh.

Well, at least Chatter and R2 had come to support him. Not allowed in the medical suite itself, they stood behind the large pane of transparisteel and observed the proceedings. On the droid’s positive diagnosis, the trooper - still off-puttingly clad in casual wear - gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. Luke returned the former, although he was sure his was much more crooked, less sincere. Of course he was glad that, for once, things were going according to plan, an end for his imprisonment finally in sight. But he couldn’t push away the disappointment clawing its way into his brain and chest. He’d really thought he’d be here.

Luke barely heard 2-1B’s instructions and explanations, his mind occupied with other matters.

He could feel his father’s presence close. Very close. And yet…

He’d really thought…

 

***

 

Minutes passed, but still his legs would not obey him. They would not cross the threshold, would not carry him any closer to his destination. Passing officers were staring at him, he was dimly aware, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only: the boy being treated beyond these very doors. The boy whom he had avoided for days, fearing that he had come to loathe him. The boy who had taken him completely by surprise the night before when he had muttered an apology into their force bond.

Vader was aware that he should be feeling relief, that he should rejoice in his son’s continued trust and support.

And he knew he should repay it in kind.

He should be in there.

And yet…

The simple reminder of what awaited him inside medbay had stalled his steps. Again and again the image returned to his mind’s eye: the scrawny, pale body, covered in bruises, unconscious in its bed, tethered to machines breathing for him. The scene wouldn’t leave him, the parallels too obvious to be simply disregarded.

The dark side called to him like it had countless times in the past two decades. The whispers were strong and suggestive, undermining his resolve with little effort.

Yet for once, he pushed them aside. Summoning every last ounce of determination, he commanded his body to move, willed it into motion. And finally, slow steps carried him forward.

The sliding doors opened noiselessly and admitted him into the sterility of the medbay. Although an initial observation of his surroundings failed to locate his son, the boy’s signature stood out brightly and led him on his way past the medical suites into the section reserved for prolonged bacta treatments.

Upon his entrance, a young man to the left of the door snapped to attention, saluting with a brisk “Sir.”. Chatter, Vader realized, the Lieutenant-Commander who had been watching over his son ever since their arrival on Zolan. He made a mental note for later consideration. Next to him stood the boy’s astromech unit.

‘ _Father!_ ’ He suddenly perceived through the force and his eyes were directed further into the room. It took all his strength and determination to remain in the room and not flee from the scene that was unfolding. Next to a perpendicular bacta tank stood his son, clad in nothing but white shorts. His arms and chest were fitted with the harness which would allow him to remain upright while submerged in the healing fluid. In his hands he held a breathing mask received from the medical droid to his left.

Vader was aware that he had not yet answered his son, however, it took all of his concentration to calm his breathing and drive back the pinpricks dancing before his eyes. The familiarity of the scene was, unfortunately, not lost on him. Watching the boy, his own shoulders felt the chafing pull of the harness, supporting a shape that was barely more than torso and head. The sorry memory of a body incomplete for most of its existence. Helpless by itself. Incapable of even surviving.

‘ _Father, are you alright?_ ’

It seemed his son had felt his distress, and the blue eyes now scanned him, full of concern.

_‘I… It seems I am late.’_

A warm wave of energy radiated through their bond and pushed a smile onto the boy’s face.

‘ _Don’t worry about that. You’re here now.’_

Vader was almost taken aback by the easy acceptance he received. After everything, his son did not seem to bear him the smallest of grudges. He had been avoided, neglected, left alone for days, and still he forgave so easily. So completely.

No, this boy was _not_ him.

He was more. So much more.

The man he should have been, but never became.

And much more still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you have it, chapter 21, "Pariah". Looking back at the beginning, I still can't believe how far this has taken me. I started this as a short ficlet, but it just developed a life of its own. Now this story has been with me for a whole six years, and I still feel no closer to finishing it. There are so many story arcs, so many developments and scenes I still want to put in, I'm not sure I'll ever be done. Of course I have a few ideas for an ending - and some are quite conflicting - but I guess I'll think about that when the time finally comes.
> 
> For now, witness some angst and drama - Skywalkers are particularly good at that, aren't they? There was originally an additional scene in this chapter which would have even ramped the drama up a notch but in the end I decided against it. It just didn't seem right anymore.
> 
> Anyway, before I end these notes, I'd really like to take the opportunity to thank all of you for sticking with me all this time. Huge thanks also go out to Laivaaja (laivaaja.tumblr.com) who created an amazing piece of art inspired by my story. Check out her work, she's amazing! While you're at it, you can also find me there, at cayastrife.tumblr.com - if you ever want to get in contact, just leave a note!
> 
> Next up… That's a good question. With Empire Day on the horizon, there might be a few interesting plot developments ahead. I have a few in mind, but, as always, the characters where I'll be taking them, so I really can't give away too much. We'll all have to wait and see!


	22. Breathing Space

With a somewhat disgusted scowl, Luke set the glass of Juma Juice down on the small bedside table and eyed it critically. The yellow liquid, normally a favorite of his for its sweet, almost honey-like aroma, now brought on a strange aftertaste that made drinking it almost unbearable. Residual effects of his recent bacta treatment, Luke noted with a sigh. He just did not remember them being _this_ pronounced - granted, his last immersion had been much longer than the first one, practically guaranteeing that any aftereffects would be enhanced. The syrupy taste was going to stay with him for a while yet. However, there were good news, as well: since his treatment seemed to be going exactly as planned, he should be allowed to leave observation and thus also the medbay in a matter of hours. He shuddered to even consider how long he would have been bedridden if not for the invention of bacta, as disgusting as it was, and decided to at least try and be grateful. 

The subdued sound of the door chime tore him from his thoughts, and Luke looked up in anticipation of his father’s entrance; so the old man had finally managed to find the time to pay him a visit. When the doors slid apart, however, they revealed not the tall, sable form of his father but rather three entirely different entities. Although a small sense of disappointment briefly took hold, it was soon replaced by an honest joy that drove a wide grin onto his face.

“Chatter! Guys!” 

“Hey, Luke,” the former greeted as the small group filed in. “Thought we’d drop by; I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Never!” Luke answered readily, glad for any distraction. “How _are_ you guys? How’s your leg?” he enquired, throwing a worried glance at Scorch. He barely suppressed a shudder at the memory of the mangled appendage, bloody flesh glistening with protruding fragments of bone. 

The trooper gave a grin and bent slightly to pat his left pant leg. 

“Regrown organic replacement for the bone, stabilized with durasteel brackets. Better than new, and barely a scar to tell the tale.”

“You look a lot better, too.” Chatter commented earnestly.

“Yeah, about ready to wrestle a rancor, I’d say.” Bagger added with a smirk.

Luke gave a laugh, the grin spreading even further.

“I’ll pass on that. But I should be out in a few of hours - just need to convince 2-1B of that.”

“I’m not sure the poor droid has the final say in that,” Scorch chimed in cryptically. 

“What do you mean?” Luke frowned. 

While Scorch smirked, Chatter gave him a funny look, as if the answer were obvious.

“The final decision is up to your father, of course. Lord Vader would never allow you to be released as long as he thinks you belong in medbay.”

Luke gave a dry chuckle, a not-so-small hint of sarcasm present in his voice.

“He’s one to talk,” he commented wryly, yet unable to suppress a hint of worry shining through. “He’s injured himself, but I don’t see him around here.”

“You shouldn’t worry about him, Luke,” Chatter retorted in as comforting a tone as he could manage, “He’s been worse.”

Somehow, that statement did little to reassure him. Thanks to his overly active imagination, dark scenarios instantly began playing out in his mind, forcing him to see the innumerable ways in which his father could be hurt - or worse. He had a tough time pushing the panic back down and had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat, the sudden shortness of breath.

“Honestly, Luke, your father can take care of himself. If he considers himself fit to be planetside to lead the troops, then he is. He wouldn’t recklessly endanger the mission unless absolutely necessary.” Chatter amended, sensing the boy’s worry. 

“Did you really just say he isn’t reckless? Have you _seen_ him in action?” Luke retorted in disbelief. 

The question only earned him grins from his three visitors, though.

“That’s not really what I meant,” Chatter defended himself, a smirk still crinkling the skin around his eyes and lips. “But I’ll admit that he pulls some crazy stunts sometimes.” He paused a moment to raise an eyebrow at the boy. “Not unlike someone else I know.”

Although an indignant “Hey!” was his initial reaction, he soon found his cheeks warming with the crimson of embarrassment. True, he _had_ done a few things that could probably be considered insane - that’s just how he was and had been all his life. The hundreds of ‘talks’ his uncle had had with him were a not so silent testament to that. But since he had come to live with his father, it felt like it just couldn’t be helped. Of course the old man thought otherwise, but whatever choice he’d made, it had always seemed right at the time. Still, that didn’t mean he felt confident about sharing his exploits with the entire galaxy.

“I’m not so bad…”

All three troopers burst out laughing at Luke’s one-sided evaluation of the matter.

“Trust me, you’re definitely your father’s son,” Chatter said easily, “That… _meld_ thing you two did at the shield reactor was out of this galaxy!”

“Right? Everybody’s talking about it,” Bagger chimed in, “The way you were throwing your lightsabers and pushing the Clawdites around with the Force like it was nothing… And I thought after the events in the Works and the mind trick you pulled nothing could surprise me anymore!”

The mention of those particular moments caused Luke to sink deeper into his bed.

“You _know_ of that?”

“We?” Scorch replied, chuckling, “I think the whole 501st does. Stories about you are pretty popular among the troops - you’ve got quite the reputation.”

Luke hid his face in his hands with a groan.

“Great, that’s just what I needed.” He mumbled through his fingers in exasperation. 

“So he’s a drama queen too, huh?” he vaguely heard Scorch whisper to Bagger with a smirk. 

Upon the words, he lowered his hands and shot the troopers an offended look, hoping it appeared at least a little more threatening than he felt.

A hearty laugh from Chatter soon echoed through the room as he observed the scene before him.

“As I said, definitely your father’s son.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Barely able to contain his mounting vexation, Darth Vader stalked toward his personal communications suite aboard the _Executor_. Why was his master requesting he make contact now,  of all times, when he had finally obtained vital information? Knowledge and leads which might prove useful in uncovering not only those behind providing the Clawdites with advanced weaponry, but also those who had assailed his son and intended to use him against his father. This would certainly be no mere status report, Vader knew beyond a doubt. However, the alternative stoked the embers of a beginning panic and caused its fumes to constrict his throat, forcing his respirator to accelerate to meet the heightened demand for oxygen.

What if his master had already received word of the battle meld he and his son had unwittingly performed on Zolan? 

What if he subsequently judged the boy to be too powerful, too influential, too much of a threat to his own existence?

_What if he ordered him to dispose of his son?_

By the time he stepped across the threshold to his private quarters, Vader was practically panting, both his respirator and mind working overtime. He _knew_ he would never be able to strike down his son, but he doubted they would survive a confrontation if Palpatine decided to make use of his powers. In a few years perhaps, months if they were hard pressed; at the moment, however, even combined they were no match for his master’s abilities. Not with the boy recuperating and barely trained. A realization that did nothing to calm him. He would need to set aside more time for the boy’s instruction if he was to keep him safe. Well, as safe as possible now that his identity had been made public.

Before stepping onto the vast transmission platform, Vader spent a moment releasing his fears and anxiety into the Force. It would do him no good if he gave away his troubled nature; his master was too skilful, too cunning not to use it to his advantage. A truth he wished he had learned much earlier in his life.

Finally the image of calm and composure, Darth Vader stepped forward and knelt on the platform, his head bowed in a show of submission. Almost instantly, the larger-than-life holo of his master flickered into life and bathed the chamber in hues of cold azure. 

“Rise, my friend.” the smooth voice declared.

“As you wish.” Vader replied curtly and did as he was told.

There was a moment of silence as the Emperor’s holo seemed to study its apprentice, his piercing eyes inquisitive, searching for truths the latter only hoped to have buried deeply enough, shielded sufficiently. 

“Say, Lord Vader, how is the mission proceeding? I hear you were able to claim our victory?”

Had he not known Palpatine, he might have been confused. Surely his master was aware of all mission details, and merely trying to lull him into a sense of security so he might betray his true feelings, his struggle.

“Yes, master. Despite initial inconveniences our troops easily reclaimed the capital and silenced the Clawdite uprising. The factions’ leaders have reached an agreement based on our… _suggestions_. They will _not_ stand up to us again.”

The holo’s face contorted into the facsimile of a pleased smile. A carrion leer.

“Good, good,” he drew the words out as had become his trademark. “You have done well, my friend. It is time you returned to my side. Empire Day is fast approaching and we must stand united in these times of turmoil.”

_Empire Day_ , Vader suddenly remembered, a cold dread rendering him momentarily immobile. Of course. How could he have forgotten that wretched day? The boy truly had occupied his mind recently, and this once he was almost glad for it.

The Emperor broke the silence, his voice a senatorial study in compassion and understanding.

“I am aware of your misgivings regarding our holiday, my young apprentice. I know of the pain it causes you. But I advise you to _make use_ of these feelings. Return to Imperial Center and savour your anger at their betrayal. It will make you _strong_.”

Vader bowed his head, but apparently was either too slow in answering or had raised suspicion in another way, for Palpatine soon continued, eyeing his apprentice more closely.

“Or might there be another reason for your hesitance?”

Willing himself to remain calm, Vader took a few deep, measured breaths before answering. He knew there was little use hiding this matter from his master. 

“I have very recently received information which might prove vital in tracing the source of the weapons we found on the planet. It might also lead us to the off-world contractor responsible for the attack on and impersonation of the boy.”

“Ah yes, your _son,”_ Palpatine sighed. “I was wondering when he would enter the equation.”

The Emperor’s weariness alerted Vader, made him tense. He would have to be careful.

“He seems to hold quite the sway over you, my friend. I must admit I was a little worried when I was made aware of your peculiar request regarding our official statement. I fear in allowing the boy to retain the name of your former self, Anakin Skywalker may regain strength and, in turn, weaken you.”

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith bristled at the accusation. How dare he speak that name, knowing how much he had struggled to detach all meaning from it?

“It is merely a boy’s delusion. A name like any other, nothing more. Eventually, he will choose another.” And to assuage his master’s obvious skepticism, he added: “Anakin Skywalker is dead. The Jedi are no more. The boy will only serve to cement our control.”

Palpatine regarded him curiously for a moment, likely contemplating his words, judging his intentions.  

“Very well. Return to Imperial Center, then, and hand your information over to our agents. They will provide answers soon, if the Force wills it.”

Vader gave a short bow, resigning himself to his fate. He expected his master to close the channel and end their communication, but it seemed he had one final message before the hologram eventually disintegrated. 

“And be sure to bring the boy before me once you have returned. I am curious to see how he has developed throughout all these tribulations.”

While the words still echoed in the vast chamber, darkness returned. And into this absence of light, Vader expelled a weary sigh. 

He was aware the matter was not open to discussion. When taking his son in, it had been under the condition and understanding that he was to be monitored closely. Ultimately, he was at the mercy of his master - the latter alone was to decide about the life and death of his offspring. These conditions had seemed at least somewhat sensible at the time, and he had been in no position to challenge them. Much had changed since then. It was hardly a distant past, but still the boy had changed him. He was not yet willing or ready to actually name the effects of this alteration, yet he knew they had also awakened the all-surpassing desire to keep his son safe and protected. He briefly wondered when he had become so easily swayed, so _weak_ , but decided not to dwell on it. There was a higher purpose to all of this.

 

* * *

 

 

The rusty landspeeder sputtered and buckled under the glare of the twin suns, a spent animal in the throes of death. 

“Just hold on a little longer, alright?” Han tried. 

Seeing as it had so often helped him with the _Falcon_ , it couldn’t hurt to try. Then again, this particular vehicle managed to make even his old lady look like she came straight out of a Coruscanti showroom. The SoroSuub X-31 was what many might call a relic - rightfully so, considering they had been designed and built before the Clone Wars began. This particular model had probably once had a venomous green paint job - although it was pretty hard to tell, as an approximate 99% of the speeder’s surface had been reduced to rusty flakes burnt almost white from the constant exposure to not only the twin suns but also endless masses of abrasive sand. 

Considering that it had likely endured many decades of use, Han could only hope it would hold together just a little longer, at least as long as they needed it. He didn’t believe in luck, but - after all he had seen - he was tempted to start believing in _bad_ luck. 

Well, at least if the old nav computer could be trusted, they were almost–

“There!” Leia unknowingly completed his train of thought and pointed ahead, “That should be it!”

Han narrowed his eyes, lifting his ragged scarf upward to allow him to get a better view. 

The Princess was right. There, dancing on the horizon to the wavering rhythm of heat, appeared a single domed structure, more mirage than actual building of substance. By all standards, this whole planet seemed surreal, removed from the reality of the rest of the galaxy. Shaking his head in disbelief at the idea that Luke had been raised here, had seen nothing but this landscape for almost two decades, Han pulled his scarf tighter around his head and floored the accelerator. A small squeal of protest escaped from the engine compartment before the old vehicle eventually picked up speed.

The sound hadn’t gone unnoticed by Leia, and she shot him a worried frown. 

Han awarded her with a grin in return.

“Don’t worry, Princess; it’s not half as bad as it sounds.” Turning aside, he lightly knocked the side of the speeder with his left fist, addressing the relic personally. “You hear? Don’t let her down!”

And it seemed as though the speeder in fact cared about either the smuggler’s wishes or the Princess’ approval, for it carried them all the way to the homestead without another unbidden, worrying sound. Still, Han was glad when it was finally time to kill the engine and leave the old rust bucket behind. 

Before he even managed to vacate the pilot’s chair, the Princess had already jumped over the side of the speeder and, bracing herself against the growing winds, stalked toward the homestead. Han gave a smirk before eventually following her. His upbeat demeanour died, just like the energy in Leia’s walk, as they closed in on the structure, though. 

Before them stood a solitary dome, likely the entrance to a much greater network of rooms and tunnels below the surface - most desert planets had taken to subterranean living for the much lower temperatures it allowed. The building’s design was far from unusual; it was something else that caused the Princess to freeze, her body to tense.

The erstwhile clean, white stone was almost black from smoke, parts of it scorched so deeply there appeared to be dents or grooves in the very walls. Although it was impossible, Han could nearly smell the suffocating fumes of flames licking from the entrance, could hear the agonised screams of those trapped below, slowly boiling and liquefying. Despite himself, he looked away for a moment. Thankfully, he didn’t believe in religions, ghosts, hauntings or the like. Placing his hand gently on the blaster in his holster - not for reassurance, of course, _never_ for reassurance - he turned back toward the entrance and looked at the Princess.

“I can go alone, if you want,” he offered, already knowing the answer.

As expected, Leia shook her head, her face a mask of determination.

“No. I need to see this for myself.” 

Without any hesitation, she stepped into the deep shadows of the cramped entryway, as if marching into the Void itself. 

 

* * *

 

 

Vader’s solemn, tense march came to a reluctant halt at the medbay’s entrance, a hair’s breadth of air keeping the doors from sliding open. Once again, he hesitated. 

Ridiculous.

_Pathetic_. 

He should not dread a simple conversation with his own son, especially not when the Force so clearly told him that the boy was in high spirits. Although perhaps _that_ was the reason for his wavering. Once they had finished talking, once his son knew all there was to know, it was entirely possible that his mood would be ruined, his mind filled with anxiety and trepidation. And although, as a Sith Lord, Darth Vader should encourage such emotions in his disciple, should relish in their power and enrich them with his own, as a father he could no longer find enjoyment in such practices. He had no desire to needlessly scare his son. Their lives were complicated enough as it was. Still, he could not let the boy go blindly.

Expelling a weary sigh, he finally entered the medbay and with sure step made his way to his son’s room, his Force presence a radiant beacon, much more dependable than any nav computer.

The young one’s head shot up at his entrance, and a welcoming smile crept across his face. Vader almost felt guilty.

“Father!”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

“An astute observation.” He eventually replied, watching his son roll his eyes in mock annoyance.

The boy studied him for a moment, possibly reading his mood.

“I know you’re busy - I’m really glad you could make the time to come.” 

The easy statement caused Vader to pause. Was that how his son saw his own importance? Was that how he evaluated his father’s priorities? Did he truly consider himself an _inconvenience_? A mere few hours ago, Vader had skipped an important tactical meeting to assure his presence at his son’s extraction from the bacta tank. It might have been an irresponsible thing to do, but his need to watch over his son and ensure his safety when the boy himself was unable to do so had overridden any feeling of duty toward the Empire. Of course his master must not know of his shift in priorities. 

And perhaps neither should his son.

“Your condition seems much improved,” he instead commented safely. “How do you feel?”

“I’m great,” the boy replied eagerly, “I think I’m ready to leave.”

So that explained his hopeful, positive mood: the boy was hoping to finally be released from medbay. Quite understandable, Vader had to admit, he must be beginning to feel claustrophobic, caged, from being unable to satiate his yearning for freedom.

“Very well. I will ensure for you to be discharged as soon as 2-1B considers it acceptable.”  

He felt a surge of relief at the admission, however it was laced with honest surprise. 

“You will?” the boy emitted in amazement, apparently hardly able to believe his luck. _Just who did his son take him to be?_

“Why should I not?”

“I don’t know, I just thought….” He shrugged. “You always tell me to mind my health and be less reckless. I guess I thought you’d be happy to have me locked in here, where I can’t do anything stupid.”

Those words took the Dark Lord by surprise. Was he really _that_ easy to read? Did he really portray the image of an overly concerned father trying to shelter his son from the realities of the galaxy? Vader almost shuddered. He could only hope for those observations to be denied to the general public and, most of all, his master. If he were to learn of the boy’s impact on him…

“I have no desire to keep you locked up. If I did, I would have moved you to a detention center long ago.” He commented wryly, hiding his true emotions from the boy. “Although my nerves surely would appreciate it.”

Before his son could retort with a smart reply of his own, however, he continued. He had found that coming straight to the point was always preferable. Better not to delay the inevitable. 

“Now is not the time to stall. The Emperor has recalled us to Imperial Center. And I fear there are still many preparations to be made.”

Again a wave of surprise reached him through their bond, yet there was no relief in it this time.

“Already? From the way Chatter and the others were talking earlier, I thought you were still busy on Zolan?!”

Vader expelled a weary sigh, careful not to let too much of his frustration spill into their bond lest the boy should pick up on it.

“Whether I am busy or not is of little import. All remaining matters will be handed over to competent agents.”

“Then why the rush?”

Another sigh. _Straight to the point_.

“The Emperor requests my presence at the Empire Day festivities. And I believe he expects yours, as well.”

Vader’s earlier concerns were confirmed almost immediately upon breaking the news, when he sensed his son’s Force presence dim in apprehension, its brilliant light dulling just a little. 

“Why do _I_ have to be there?” he asked, almost confused, although Vader was fairly certain the boy already knew the answer.

“My master believes the Empire is in need of a display of unity. As my son, that would include you, as well.” 

Judging from the boy’s expression, his mind was currently playing a rather vivid mental holo movie about what such a ‘display’ might entail, and a frown crinkled his forehead.

“I’m not sure I like the idea…” he explained hesitantly, throwing his father an almost pleading look that made any further words unnecessary.

“I will do what is possible to keep you out of the public eye as much as feasible. However, we must be cautious. The Emperor was worried about your request to keep your name. He insists on seeing you once we return.”

_Straight to the point_.

The boy’s frown only deepened, his blue eyes taking on an almost haunted look.

“Am I… are _we_ in trouble?”

Vader swallowed hard against the rapidly growing lump in his throat. He could only hope that his son was too preoccupied to perceive his own worry. It took him a couple of breathing cycles to reply.

“You are in no danger from my master.”

Luke regarded him curiously.

“You said to never underestimate him.”

Of course it was now, of all times, that the boy had chosen to remember what his father had told him.

“I do not.” _Not anymore. Never again_. “Let _me_ worry about the Emperor.”

“But–”.

Before the boy could protest further, Vader raised a hand in a silencing gesture, ending that particular train of thought.

“In the meantime, we need to move on with your training. You have demonstrated great power. It is time you learned to control it properly.”

That topic seemed to be much more to his son’s liking - the Force around him flared brightly with anticipation, excitement. It seemed that honing his abilities still provided the boy with great pleasure, Vader noticed with satisfaction. 

“I’d like that,” he commented with a smile, “that mind meld thing was a little confusing, but it felt… _powerful, peaceful.”_

Immediately, Vader’s infamous pointing finger made an appearance, driving those delusions from his son’s mind before they took too deep of a hold. 

“Battle melds are out of the question.” He growled, hardly comfortable with being reminded of that certain event. “We will continue to work on the basics: lightsaber combat, levitation, shielding, the enhancement of physical abilities.”

Despite a tiny sliver of disappointment at being shot down so offhandedly, the boy still obviously couldn’t help but feel excited. 

“Alright. We can start right now.” He suggested eagerly. “I’m ready to leave.”

In a different life, he would have laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm. As a Dark Lord of the Sith, however, he reacted with as much indifference as he could muster.

 “Unfortunately, I will not be available. I have an important matter to attend to.”

“Oh.” Another sliver of disappointment. Stronger this time. “Let me guess: a tactical meeting? Mission debriefing?”

Vader almost snorted. 

“No. A matter of _real_ importance.“

“Really? What is it?”

He should have anticipated his son’s curiosity, should not have teased his inquisitive spirit. _But alas, what’s done is done._ Vader gave another sigh. It was becoming quite the habit these days.

“I will receive a replacement for my damaged arm prosthesis.”

“Oh, right…”

Luke’s gaze briefly wandered to his father’s gloved appendage, the one he had helped repair mere days ago. When his eyes could not find the damaged section of leather, however, he looked up, puzzled.

Vader decided to preempt his question.

“I have already replaced the suit. The prosthesis required further modification, however, so its application was unfortunately delayed.”

Luke hummed thoughtfully, his gaze directed at his own hands, but not seeing them. He was likely reliving uncomfortable memories, perhaps relating to his own artificial limb.

Vader was expecting awkward questions to follow from their exchange, but when his son finally spoke, the Dark Lord was entirely taken aback.

“Do you want me to be there?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to be there,” Luke repeated carefully, almost timidly, but still trying to put up a brave front, “you know, during the operation?”

Darth Vader was not quite sure how to react. This was something he had clearly not foreseen. Why would his son assume that he required company? He, who had gone through countless much more invasive treatments than the simple replacement of an artificial limb. _As if a Sith Lord needed to have his hand held!_

He could not help but utter his incomprehension. 

“Why would I–?”

A sudden tide of emotions flushing their bond forced Vader to stop mid-sentence. Apprehension.  Regret. Longing. _Fear._ A look at his son’s face only confirmed how important this was for him, although Vader couldn’t even hope to understand why. 

It seemed the boy still wanted to try and explain himself, for he soon began to speak, his voice small, brimming with painful memories. 

“I just thought it’d be better not to be alone,” he shrugged briefly. “Aunt Beru was always there when something happened to me. And it made me feel better. So I thought… It’s what family does, isn’t it?”

Vader froze.

_Family…_

He regarded the boy quietly for a while, unwilling to examine his own troubled state too closely for fear of what he might discover, what he might realize. 

He was aware that he should have brushed the idea off briskly, shouldn’t have paid it any mind, but something in the boy would not let him do it.

_Family…_

“Do you _want_ to be there?”

 

* * *

 

 

Bracing herself against the grimy walls, the Princess slowly stalked along the corridors, careful not to trip over any detritus in the fading twilight. While the pit-like, open yard had simply made her uneasy, the cramped spaces caused in her a veritable sense of dread. This place was much less homestead than mausoleum. Parts of walls and other installations had crumbled and now littered the floor, making passage of the corridors infinitely more difficult and strenuous. Down here, below the surface, the signs of destruction were even more pronounced than above, even in the semi-darkness. 

From what they believed to have been a storage compartment, containing a few antique computers and datapads - or rather the remains thereof - Leia heard the sound of Han’s frustrated rummaging. All they had uncovered so far had been either burned to a crisp or smashed to pieces. It seemed the Empire had truly done a thorough job, she thought in utter disgust. 

Leaving behind an area that might have once served as a kitchen, a sudden sense of claustrophobia drove her back into the open yard. For a moment she rested against the remains of a central structure, something she could only assume must have been the homestead’s main vaporator. Letting her gaze wander about, she had to shake her head in revulsion and incomprehension alike. Once, this crumbling, grimy ruin had been a home, a place of belonging and safety in the midst of this hostile desert landscape. It had seen sadness and pain, but equal measures of joy, of love. Although she wasn’t aware of the specifics - she’d never had the time to ask, anyway - it had seen Luke’s childhood. It had watched him grow from an innocent child into a truly kind boy, a young man with nothing but the stars in his heart and mind. It had been the backdrop of teenage frustration and family squabbles as well as moments of laughter, of birthdays and anniversaries. For it to be mindlessly reduced to its current state caused her an almost physical pain, filled her with a fresh surge of hate for the Empire. 

Before she could dwell on the thought, however, a small opening across the yard caught her attention. Walking closer, she understood why they had not noticed it before: the former doorway was partly collapsed and further blocked by boxes and others debris that littered the stairway used to access it. Somehow Leia felt the need to see what was beyond. Working slowly but efficiently, she removed piece after piece of rubble, hoping the structure would not fall in on itself. 

It took her quite a while, but eventually, she had excavated the entranceway and squinted into the darkness. There was something there. 

Carefully - albeit eagerly - she climbed on, stepped over the remains of a door and entered a small windowless space. The walls were lined with a variety of alcoves, and the skeleton of a bed frame occupied the center. 

This _had_ to be Luke’s room. She could almost feel it. 

Almost wistfully she ran a gloved hand over the dusty surfaces. Burnt datapads crumbled under her touch. The fires had reached here, too. As she came to the head of the bed, though, a small object caught her eye. Shoved all the way into the back of an alcove - a fact that had probably been its saving grave - was a model ship. Leia reached for it and with delicate fingers pulled it from its hiding place. Curiously, she turned the model around in her hands and observed it: it had a tri-wing design that resembled Imperial shuttles, a large forward facing laser canon below the cockpit and what appeared to have once been red markings. Possibly an airspeeder, Leia mused. Although the model had not been entirely destroyed in the fire, it had still been scorched and blackened, one of its wings warped from the heat. Almost lovingly, Leia wiped the toy off. She was sure it had been Luke’s, even though she couldn’t quite say why. Just like she knew that he had treasured it immensely. 

“Princess?”

Han’s distant call tore her from her musings.

“I’ll be right there!” she shouted back and turned toward the exit. As she was about to set the model down, however, she stopped herself and instead, with a swift movement, stowed the toy safely in the bag slung across her shoulders.  

 

* * *

 

Even though he was about to enter the operating suite, Luke still couldn’t believe his father had actually allowed him to come inside. At his old man’s initially negative reaction, he had thought he’d gone one step too far this time. It had been a bold move, no doubt, especially considering how uncomfortable his father was with anything that was even remotely connected to his past. His physical condition was probably one of his strongest sources of discomfort. 

But once Luke had mentioned his past experiences, his father had given in surprisingly quickly. It seemed he actually understood how important this was for him. Although maybe he hadn’t told his father the entire truth; sure, he thought nobody should be alone when going through a tough time or having to deal with a particularly difficult moment, but that was not all of it. Seeing his father injured had stirred something deep within him, an almost primal fear. It had made him realize that even Darth Vader was not invincible, and losing him had become an all too real possibility. And while this particular injury was hardly life threatening, Luke believed that keeping his father company would go a long way toward calming his own uneasy mind. 

“Sir?” 2-1B called for his attention. “Please put this on and follow me.”

In surprise, Luke looked down from the droid to the object he had placed in his hands. It appeared to be some kind of breather, transparent and made of fine cast-plast, an airfilter incorporated into the mouthpiece. 

“What’s this for?” he asked curiously.

The droid’s head swivelled back into his direction and gave a precise, blunt explanation.

“The atmosphere inside the operating suite is super-oxygenated to allow Lord Vader to breathe without the assistance of his respirator in case of a breach of his life support systems.”

For a few seconds, Luke just blinked, his body frozen at the idea, the icy claws of familiar fears grasping his throat and pressing it shut. It took him a moment to digest what he had heard and regain control over himself. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as reassuring as he had hoped… 

Fastening the strap of the breather and pulling it tightly over his mouth, he finally followed 2-1B out of the prep room into the operating suite itself. Once inside, the doors hissed shut behind them, the familiar sounds of pressurisation making him feel like he was diving deep below the surface of a vast lake.

Almost hesitantly, he walked up to his father. He sat in a medchair, fully clad in his suit of armor, head to toe. Only his left arm, resting on a supporting brace, was bare, the skeletal prosthesis and neural plate freed from their sable prison.

His father must have noticed his prolonged stare.

“You seem surprised,” he commented offhandedly, “I take it you were expecting a more lifelike appearance?” He used his right to gesture at the damaged limb.

Luke shook his head, slightly embarrassed at having been caught staring.

“That’s not it,” he answered genuinely, the sound of his own voice distorted by the breather surprised him. “I just expected you to be wearing a little less… armor.”

“If your presence serves the sole purpose of satisfying your curiosity regarding my appearance _without_ armor, I’m afraid you will be sorely disappointed.”

Had Luke not been able to read his father’s mood, he might have shrunk back from the apparent reproach, an accusation even. Thankfully, however, the Force allowed him to understand that there was no malice behind the words, merely tension. Luke was almost ready to claim that his father made use of a dry sense of humor to relieve his own stress. Of course he was not going to say it out loud. It was also thanks to this knowledge that Luke dared to ask even further questions.

“So is it alright to remove _parts_ of the suit, then? I thought it was somehow sealed.”

A weary noise emanated from his father’s vocabulator, but still his old man decided to deign him with an answer, probably aware that it was the least painful option.

“The suit seals in several vital locations, allowing the removal of - and also brief survival without - limited sections. It is a security feature as much as one of convenience: removing the entire suit is time consuming and complicated.”

Luke emitted a croaked “Oh…”, his throat suddenly constricting. Hearing about his father’s physical state in such a blunt way, even seeing it for himself to some extent, was harder than he had anticipated, but it had to be done. After all, it was nothing compared to what his father had to live with every day. He could get through this. 

In silence, father and son watched as 2-1B carried in first a tray brimming with neatly arranged instruments of varying sizes and shapes and only moments later the new prosthesis itself. Luke studied the limb carefully. It was very similar in design to the old, damaged one, equally skeletal yet sleek and powerful in appearance. A second look though alerted him to some minor changes: a denser neural net to allow for a better tactile experience, additional artificial ligaments and sinews to strengthen potentially fragile structures, and yet many, many more.

“You really put a lot of work into customizing this.” Luke muttered in awe. As a response, satisfaction filled their bond, a small stream of pride its undercurrent. 

“One should never be satisfied with what one has achieved. It breads inferiority.” Vader commented.

To be honest, Luke wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that statement, but decided that his father appreciated him noticing. He could do with being a little less convoluted and cryptic sometimes, though.

“So, when’s the surgeon coming?” Luke asked innocently as he watched 2-1B busy himself with the final preparations.

“Surgeon?” There was a hint of confusion in his father’s presence.

“The doctor. The organic surgeon who’ll do the procedure?”

His father regarded him quietly for a moment. 

“ _2-1B_ will be performing the procedure. I have modified him - and others like him - to be specifically suited to the tasks I require of them.” He said pointedly. 

However, probably sensing that there were still many questions in Luke’s mind, Vader decided to humor him by answering the most apparent one. 

“I do not _trust_ organic medics, doctors or surgeons. They are as prone to error as they are to bribery and misguided ambition.”

While Luke wondered what _exactly_ bribery might have to do with operating on a patient but fearing he did not want to know he details, his father spoke up again.

“Does this mean you were under the impression that I was giving you second-rate treatment when having a specialized droid taking care of you instead of humanoid personell?”

Luke shook his head, surprised at both the accusation and the idea.

“No, of course not! I… actually never really thought about it before.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence when 2-1B began to detach the damaged prosthesis and check the neural plate grafted into the stump. Luke tried to cover up his own unease by pretending to be absorbed in the droid’s work - which, at any other point in time, he would definitely have been. His father, however, seemed to care for none of the pretense, and Luke felt his stare like an almost physical weight. There was a strange notion spreading through the fabric of the Force, only intensified by their bond.

“Son…” his father began finally, almost hesitantly, “I trust you know that I would not purposely neglect or even endanger your well-being. My aim is to keep you safe, unharmed, at least until you have grown sufficiently strong to do so yourself.”

Luke met his father’s gaze, and nearly had to withdraw at the intensity of it. 

“I know… ”

“But…?”

He settled on a shrug, unsure how to put his restlessness into words. Unsure if this was the right place, the right time.

“You worry about the future.”

Perhaps that was it. But as easy as it sounded, it was actually pretty complicated. 

“Of course I worry, sometimes,” he admitted ultimately. “Don’t you? Aren’t you ever afraid?”

***                                                                                                    

“Don’t you? Aren’t you ever afraid?”

Vader regarded the boy for a moment. There was no doubt as to the answer to that question, and that in itself unsettled him far more than he would have liked to admit. 

Looking into those blue eyes, those mirrors, those passageways into a different existence, he found there was no use denying it.

Yes, he _was_ afraid.

Afraid of harm coming to his son.

Of losing him.

For the first time in many years, he remembered how it felt.

That earth-shattering devastation, that numbing dread in the face of failing those which he held dear.

Yes. He _was_ afraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLJ left me pretty emotional, and thankfully that's often a source of inspiration.
> 
> So here you have Chapter 22: "Breathing Space", with more drama, and at least a little bit of plot :) The next chapters should see some training, the arrival of the Executor at Imperial Center and also the advent of Empire Day. I have some tempting ideas, but ultimately I'll just have to see where the story will take me. Hope you enjoy!


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